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WILEY'S 

ELOCUTION AND ORATORY: 

Clp 7-1 *T GIVING A THOROUGH TREATISE ON THE ART OP 

READING AND SPEAKING-. 

CONTAINING 

NUMEROUS AND CHOICE SELECTIONS OE 

DIDACTIC, HUMOROUS, AND DRAMATIC STYLES, 

FROM THE MOST CELEBRATED AUTHORS. 

FOE COLLEGES, ACADEMIES, AND SEMINAEIES, AND A GUIDE FOB 
TEACHEES, CLEEGYMEN, AND PUBLIC SPEAKEES. 



By CHABLES A. WILEY, 

TEACHER OF ELOCUTION. 




NEW YOEK: 

CLARK & MAYNARD, 5 BARCLAY STREET, 

Chicago : S. 0. Geiggs & Co. 

1869. 



.WV7 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, Ly 

CHAELES A. AVI LEY, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 



TIIE TROW & SMITH 

BOOK MANUFACTURING- CO., 

46, 48, 50 Greene St., N. Y. 






PREFACE. 



The primary object in the preparation of this work, 
was to arrange in a single volume, the principles of vocal 
culture, and style of delivery now used by the best 
elocutionists of the day ; and, at the same time, to present 
a work for reading and for practice, that would contain 
the choicest gems of both ancient and modern literature. 

These selections, containing the highest order of elo- 
cutionary merit — many of them- of a purely patriotic 
spirit — the compiler, at the expense of much time and 
labor, has arranged or adapted, in a manner eminently 
fitted for the use of teachers and students in our colleges 
and schools. 

That to which special attention is directed in this 
volume, is the systematic arrangement, unlike any thing 
that has yet appeared, both of the principles of vocal 
culture, and the rules for delivery, carefully and 
suitably prepared, for students of Elocution whether in 
schools, or colleges, or for private learners. 

So completely in keeping with the advancing spirit of 
the art of Elocution will the rules and exercises in this 
volume be found, that no student who thoroughly con- 
quers them can fail to become a master of Elocution. 

CHARLES A. WILEY. 



CONTENTS 



DEFINITIONS AND DIRECTIONS. 

PAGE. 

Elocution 15 

Breathing 15 

Effusive Breathing 15 

Expulsive " . 16 

Explosive " 16 

Whispering 16 

Effusive Whispering 16 

Expulsive " 17 

Explosive " 11 

Quality 11 

Pure Tone 17 

Orotund 18 

Aspirated 20 

Guttural 21 

Articulation 22 

Modulation 23 

Key 24 

Low Key 24 

Middle Key 25 

High Key 26 

Transition in key 28 

Monotone 28 

Variations 30 

Sweeps 30 

Bend \ . 31 

Slides 31 

Upward Slide 31 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Downward Slide 31 

Waving Slide 32 

Double Slide 32 

Closes 32 

Force 33 

Kate 35 

Delivery 36 

Declarative Sentences 36 

Interrogative Sentences 36 

" Definite 36 

" Indefinite 38 

" Indirect 39 

Exclamatory Sentences 40 

Phonetic Laughter 41 

Gesture 42 

" when Used 43 

Rhetorical Pauses 44 

Emphasis 45 

Parenthesis 45 

Style 46 

The Passions 46 

Directions for Students 57 

Modulation 59 

Hamlet's Instruction to the Players 60 



SELECTIONS. 

DIDACTIC AND MORAL. 

Ricbter's Dream 61 

The Beautiful Land 76 

Prose Selections : 

1. — Growing Old .« 77 

2. — Memory •. ^78 

3.— Facts Worth Knowing 78 

4. — A Nobleman and his Jester 78 

5. — Greatness 79 

6.— Life ' 80 

7.— Vulgar Words . 80 

What makes a Hero Henry Taylor. 87 



CONTENTS. VU 

PAGE. 

The True King Seneca. 88 

One Year Ago 96 

The Unseen Battle Field 100 

Poetical Selections : 

1. — Eloquence of Silence Miss Mary A. Wheaton. 102 

2.— True Refinement Holland's Kathrina. 102 

3-. — Forgive and Forget. Charles Swain. 102 

4.— The Flight of a Single Soul 103 

5. — Genius Unemployed : Holland. 103 

6.— The Angel of Sleep 104 

7. — Where God appears 104 

8. — Life of Man Beaumont. 105 

9.— The Pilot T. H. Bayly. 105 

10.— Immortality K. H. Dana. 106 

11.— Abou Ben Adhem". Leigh Hunt. 106 

12. — Atheism Eeproved From the Italian. 107 

The Mountains of Life J. G. Clark. 127 

Drunkards not all Brutes John B. Gough. 129 

Advice to a Young Lawyer Judge Story. 134 

The Common Lot .....' James Montgomery. 140 

The Atlantic Telegraph Geo. Lansing Taylor. 142 

Death's Final Conquest James Shirley. 152 

Tell Me, Ye Winged Winds. Charles Mackay. 165 

Once I was Pure 182 

What is Time Marsden. 195 

A Psalm of Life , Longfellow. 210 

Affectation in the Pulpit. . .Win. Cowper. 211 

Cleon and I Charles Mackay. 213 

The Family Meeting Charles Sprague. 219 

Elegy in a Church- Yard Gray. 221 

The Closing Year Geo. D. Prentice. 235 

Thanatopsis . W. C. Bryant. 240 

Jephthah's Daughter Willis. 243 

Advertisement of a Lost Day Mrs. Sigourney. 263 

Cato's Soliloquy Addison. 264 

The Philosopher's Scales. . , Jane Taylor. 277 

The Three Warnings! , Mrs. Thrale. 278 

Twenty Years Ago 282 

Majesty of the Scriptures Rousseau. 286 

Fifty Years Ago , W. D. Gallagher. 288 

The Voice of Wisdom ........... Pollok. 290 

Look Aloft Lawrence. 291 

The Light of Home Mrs. Hale. 291 



Vlll CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

My Father's at the Helm 292 

Aspirations of Heaven-born Spirits Mrs. Hemans. 297 

Pleasures of Hope Thomas Campbell. 300 

Over the River Nancy A. W. Priest. 305 

The Bridge of Sighs Thomas Hood. 307 

The Heart's Charity E. Cook. 310 

The Lost Steamship Fitz James O'Brien. 312 

The Vagabonds Trowbridge. 314 

Commencement Moralities 317 

The Miser Cutter. 320 

The First Predicted Eclipse Mitchell. 324 

Larvae B. F. Taylor. 320 

Cloister Life Donald G. Mitchell. 331 

" " Continued Donald G. Mitchell. 333 

NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 

Seeing the Sun at Midnight 68 

Story of Logan 107 

Speech of a Scythian Embassador 108 

Singular Adventure of Gen. Putnam 110 

The Prisoner Released from the Bastile 112 

Prose Selections : 

1. — Remarkable Patience 121 

2. — Curiosity 121 

3. — Colonel Rice 121 

4. — A Quaker Woman's Sermon 122 

5. — The Sunken Lake 122 

6. — Wanted a Receipt , 123 

The Ambitious Youth E. Burrltt. 202 

An Evening Adventure 225 

New Year's Night of an Unhappy Man .Richter. 233 

A Republic of Prairie Dogs W. Irving. 237 

La Fayette's Last Visit to America J. T. Headley. 260 

Mount Tabor J. T. Headley. 270 

" " Continued J. T. Headley. 272 

Romantic Story 275 

The Wreck of the Arctic , H. W. Beecher. 322 

SENATORIAL AND NATIONAL. 

The Blue and the Gray 69 

Toussaint L' Ouverture .' . . .Wendell Phillips. 70 

The Passing of the Rubicon Knowles. 91 



CONTENTS. IX 

PAGE 

The Union Webster. 92 

Extract from the Last Speech of Kobert Emmet 93 

Prentice's Best Poem G. D. Prentice. 99 

What Constitutes a State Sir William Jones. 101 

Sending Relief to Ireland S. S. Prentiss. 116 

Irish Aliens Sheil. 118 

The Union Miss Sarah T. Bolton. 123 

Scott and the Veteran Bayard Taylor. 128 

An Appeal to South Carolina Andrew Jackson. 131 

Our Duties to the Republic Judge Story. 135 

Love of Country and Home James Montgomery. 137 

Universal Suffrage Victor Hugo. 150 

Gen. Grant to his Army U. S. Grant. 152 

Oration against Verres , Cicero. 161 

From the First Oration against Catiline Cicero. 163 

Degeneracy of Athens Demosthenes. 164 

Speech of Patrick Henry Patrick Henry. 166 

The American Flag J. R. Drake. 170 

The Old Continentals Guy Humphrey McMaster. 181 

Lincoln's Speech at Gettysburg A. Lincoln. 184 

Character of Blannerhassett Wirt. 185 

New England and the Union S. S. Prentiss. 209 

Problem for the United States Rev. H. A. Boardman. 214 

American Experiment of Self-Government Edward Everett. 215 

The Ship of State Wm. P. Lunt. 216 

Character of True Eloquence Daniel Webster. 220 

France and the United States Geo. Washington. 244 

Recognizing the Independence of Greece, 1824 Clay. 251 

Men Always fit for Freedom T. B. Macaulay. 253 

Address of Black Hawk to Gen. Street Black Hawk. 267 

The Union of the States Edmund Randolph. 297 

Revolutionary Veterans Daniel Webster. 298 

Lincoln's Last Inaugural Address A. Lincoln. 301 

Anniversary of Emancipation Proclamation 303 

The Grave of Lincoln Edna Dean Proctor. 303 

Kossuth's First Speech in America L. Kossuth. 329 

RHETORICAL AND DRAMATIC. 

Death-Bed of Benedict Arnold Geo. Leppard. 62 

What the Sea Said to Me 66 

Right Triumphant Shakspeare. 67 

The Drunkard's Daughter 73 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Virgil's Hades Wiley. 74 

Catiline to his Army Ben Jonson. 81 

Spartacus to the Gladiators E. Kellogg. 82 

Wolsey's Fall.. Shakspeare. 85 

The Rum Maniac Allison. 86 

Brutus on the Death of Lucretia Payne. 89 

Richard II. on the Vanity of Power Shakspeare. 90 

Tell on His Native Hills Knowles. 95 

Macbeth to the Dagger Shakspeare. 97 

The Indian Hunter Eliza Cook. 98 

The Fireman F. S.Hill. 125 

Lay of the Madman 126 

Time's Mid-Night Voice .Edward Young. 139 

The Gladiator 143 

Henry V. at Harfleur Shakspeare. 145 

Seven Ages of Man Shakspeare. 146 

Parrhasius N. P. Willis. 147 

The Seminole's Defiance G. W. Patten. 149 

Hotspur's Description of a Fop Shakspeare. 153 

The Gambler's Wife Coates. 154 

Cassius against Caesar Shakspeare. 155 

Rienzi's Add"ess to the Romans Miss Mitford. 157 

The Sailor Boy's Dream Dimond. 158 

Bernardo Del Carpio '. .Mrs. Hemans. 160 

Catiline's Last Harangue to his' Army Croly. 169 

Burial of Sir John Moore, 1809 Rev. Charles Wolfe. 171 

The Battle of Hohenlinden Campbell. 172 

Soliloquy of the Dying Alchemist Willis. 177 

The Bells Edgar A. Poe. 179 

On the Trial of a Murderer Webster. 187 

Charge of the Light Brigade Tennyson. 190 

Excelsior ,. .Longfellow. 191 

Soliloquy of Richard III Shakspeare. 192 

Moonlight and Music Shakspeare. 193 

The Isles of Greece Byron. 194 

Death and the Drunkard 196 

Hamlet's Soliloquy Shakspeare. 197 

The Maniac Lewis. 198 

Darkness Byron. 200 

Soliloquy of a Drunkard's Wife 206 

Bingen on the Rhine Mrs. Norton. 207 

Leap for Life Geo. P. Morris. 212 

In the Mines , 218 



CONTENTS. XI 

PAGB. 

Three Days in the Life of Columbus Delavigne. 227 

Destruction of the Philistines Milton. 229 

Satan's Encounter with Death Milton. 2S0 

Belshazzar's Feast T. S. Hughes. 232 

The Church Yard ~ Karamisin. 242 

Marmion taking leave of Douglas Sir Walter Scott. 246 

Death of Marmion Sir Walter Scott. 24V 

Maud Muller Whittier. 248 

Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney. 253 

The Ship-wreck. * . .Byron. 254 

Catiline to his Friends Rev. Geo. Croly. 264 

Catiline's Defiance. Rev. Geo. Croly. 266 

Tell among the Mountains , J. S. Knowles. 269 

Reflections from a Pyramid 274 

The Pilot John B. Gough. 281 

The Raven Edgar A. Poe. 283 

Marco Bozzaris Fitz-Greene Halleck. 293 

The Pen and the Press ■. 294 

The Boys , Oliver Wendell Holmes. 295 

The Bayonet Charge Nathan D. TTrner. 306 

A Bayonet Charge 327 

_ MISCELLANEOUS. 

Power of Habit. . John B. Gough. 115 

The Isle of Long Ago .B. F. Taylor. 138 

Poetical Selections : 

1.— November ._ W. C. Bryant. 173 

2. — The Constitution , „ 173 

3. — The Avenger of Slander Victor Hugo. 174 ' 

4.— The Press ' Ebenezer Elliot. 174 

5. — Thoughts of a Schoolmate, Once Loved 175 

6.— The Love of Country Sir Walter Scott. 176 

7. — Envy. 1Y7 

Force of Habit .Charles A. Wiley. 255 

Poetical and Prose Selections. 

1.— From Golden Legion Longfellow. 256 

2.— From Golden Legiori -. Longfellow. 257 

3. — Count de Cabra , 257 

4.— An Enemy's Gift 257 

5. — The Power of Love Shakspeare. 258 

6.— Imperishability of Great Examples Everett. 258 

7.— Vice p ope< 259 



Xll CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

8. — From Hiawatha's Wooing Longfellow. 259 

9. — The Lunatic, the Lover, and the Poet Shakspeare. 259 

HUMOROUS. 

The Gouty Merchant 335 

The Height of the Ridiculous Oliver W. Holmes. 336 

The Music-Grinders Oliver W. Holmes. 337 

Sam Weller's Valentine Charles Dickens. 339 

The Deacon's Masterpiece Oliver W. Holmes. 343 

Mrs. Caudle on Umbrellas Douglas Jerrold. 346 

Scenes from Pickwick — The Dilemma Charles Dickens. 347 

Speech of Sergeant Buzfuz Charles Dickens. 352 

Sam Weller as Witness Charles Dickens. 356 

Rules for Preserving Health 359 

A Maiden's Psalm of Life 361 

Josh. Billings on " Gongs " Josh. Billings. 362 

Speech of the Hoosier 363 

Varieties. 

1.— An Elysium 366 

2.— A New Reading 367 

3.— A Polite Man 367 

4.— Why Diggest Thou ? 867 

5.— Josh. Billings on "Bumble Bees" Josh. Billings. 368 

Dramatic Styles Blackwood's Mag. 368 

Fuss at Fires 370 

Boarding School Breakfast Charles Dickens. 372 

Mrs. Caudle on Shirt Buttons Douglas Jerrold. 374 

Legend of Lake Saratoga John G. Saxe. 375 

Ode to My New Bonnet 376 

Poetry Now-A-Days 377 

All Tipsy But Me ' 378 

A Modest Wit 379 

The Jester Condemned to Death Horace Smith. 380 

Parodv— The Old Oaken Bucket 381 



DIALOGUES. 

Scene from The Lady of Lyons •. Lytton. 382 

The Sensitive Author R. B. Sheridan. 386 

From Nolens Volens Hall. 389 

Gil Bias and the Archbishop Le Sage. 395 

Conversations After Marriage R. B. Sheridan. 398 

" " " Part Second R. B. Sheridan. 402 



CONTENTS. Xlll 

PAGE. 

From The Lady of the Lake Scott. 405 

Nothing in It Charles Mathews. 410 

The Weathercock J. T. Allingham. 413 

From Brutus Payne. 41? 

The Young Poets 423 

The Kighteous Judge Shakspeare. 426 

The Quack 430 

Lost Keputation Shakspeare. 433 

The Letter. Lover. 435 

The Will 436 

Ghost Scene, — from Hamlet Shakspeare. 440 



Elocution and Oratory, 



I. ELOCUTION. 

Elocution is the art of delivering with ease and pro- 
priety, written or extemporaneous composition. 

Good reading or speaking, therefore, may be considered 
not only as uttering the words of a sentence so that they 
may be distinctly heard, but also, giving them all that beauty, 
force and variety, of which they are susceptible. 

The prime qualification of an orator, is a pure and culti- 
vated voice ; therefore, a knowledge of the right use of the 
breathing apparatus, together with the proper manner of 
disciplining and using the voice, is the first subject the 
student should notice. 

" Ignorance of the right way of using the lungs and the larynx, in 
speaking, reading, and singing, has caused more cases of bronchitis and 
pulmonary consumption among students, vocalists, clergymen, and other 
public speakers, than all other causes combined." — Kidd. 



II. BREATHING. 

Stand in a perfectly erect, but easy posture, with the 
weight of the body resting on one foot ; the feet at the 
proper angle and distance from each other. 

1. .EFFUSIVE OR TRANQUIL BREATHING. 

Draw in slowly, a full breath, and send it forth very 



16 , wiley's elocution 

slowly in a prolonged sound of the breathing /i, or a-h in a 
whisper. 

2. EXPULSIVE OR FORCIBLE BREATHING. 

Draw in, somewhat quicker than in Effusive, a full 
breath, and emit it with a lively, expulsive force ; the sound 
of the h but little prolonged. 

3. EXPLOSIVE OR ABRUPT BREATHING. 

Draw in a full breath, faster than in Expulsive, and 
emit it very quickly in a very brief sound of the h. 

This exercise in Breathing is an admirable one ; as it not only gives 
command and strength to the organs of breathing, but it tends to allay 
the irritation of the fibers, that cause much of the harshness heard in 
many voices. 



III. WHISPERING. 

For students accustomed to articulate poorly, practice 
in whispering is one of the best remedies. For in speaking 
we may be understood if we do not articulate distinctly, 
but in whispering it is impossible. Let, then, the exercises 
under this head be confined exclusively to whispering. 

1. EFFUSIVE WHISPERING. 

Let the breath pass from the mouth in as gentle a 
manner as possible ; so that, at first, a person at the distance 
of about ten feet would understand. 

Examples. 

Stillness of Night. — Byron. 
All heaven and earth are still, — though not in sleep, 
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most ; 
And silent, as we stand in thought too deep : — 
All heaven and earth are still : From the high host 
Of stars to the lulled lake, and mountain coast, 
All is concentrated in a life intense, 



AND ORATOKY. 17 

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, 

But hath a part of being, and a sense 

Of that which is of all Creator and Defence. 

2. EXPULSIVE WHISPERING. 

Let the breath pass from the mouth with more force 
than in Effusive; so that a person could understand at 
about twice the distance of Effusive. 

Examples. 

Soldiers ! you are now within a few steps of the enemy's outposts. 
Our scouts report them as slumbering in parties around their watchfires, 
and utterly unprepared for our approach. A swift and noiseless advance 
around that projecting rock, and we are upon them, — we capture them 
without the possibility of resistance. — One disorderly noise or motion may 
leave us at the mercy of their advanced guard. Let every man keep the 
strictest silence, under pain of instant death ! 

3. EXPLOSIVE WHISPERING. 

Let the breath pass from the mouth in as abrupt and 
explosive a manner as possible. 

Examples. 
Hark ! I hear the bugles of the enemy ! They are on their march 
along the bank of the river. We must retreat instantly, or be cut off 
from our boats. I see the head of their column already rising over the 
height. Our only safety is in the screen of this hedge. Keep close to it ; 
be silent ; and stoop as you run. For the boats ! Forward ! 



IV. QUALITY. 

Quality has reference to the tone, or the kind of sound 
uttered. 

The Qualities of Voice mostly used in reading or speak- 
ing, and which should receive the highest degree of cul- 
ture are, the Pure Tone, the Orotund, the Aspirated, and 
the Guttural. 

PURE TONE. 

The Pure Tone is a clear, smooth, sonorous flow of 



18 



sound, adapted to express emotions of joy, love, and tran- 
quillity. 

Examples. 
"JOY." 

ShaJcspeare. 

Come, let us to the castle. — 
News, friends ; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. 
How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? 
Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus, 
I have found great love amongst them. my sweet, 
I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 
In mine own comforts. 

" LOVE." 
Lines written in a Highland Glen. — Wilson. 
Oh ! that this lovely vale were mine ! 
Then, from glad youth to calm decline, 

My years would gently glide ; 
Hope would rejoice in endless dreams, 
And Memory's oft-returning gleams 
By peace be sanctified ! 

"TRANQUILLITY." 

Soliloquy of Douglas. — Home. 

This is the place, — the centre of the grove ; — 
Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood : 
How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene ! 
The silver moon unclouded holds her way 
Through skies where I could count each little star ; 
The fanning west wind scarcely stirs the leaves ; 
The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, 
Imposes silence with a stilly sound. 
In such a place as this, at such an hour, — 
If ancestry may be in aught believed, — 
Descending spirits have conversed with man, 
And told the secrets of the world" unknown. 

OROTLTKD.* 

The Orotund is a full, deep, round, pure tone of voice, 
adapted to the declamatory style generally ; and adapted. 

* The Orotur.d is, in reality, a. fuller development of the Pure Tone. 






AND ORATORY. 19 

especially to express, sublime, impassioned and pathetic 
emotions. 

1. EFFUSIVE OROTUND. 

Examples. 
" SUBLIMITY." 

Milton's Invocation of Light. 

Hail ! holy Light, — offspring of Heaven, first-born, 
Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam 
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light, 
Dwelt from eternity, — dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright Essence increate ! 
Or hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell ? — Before the sun, 
Before the heavens thou wert, and, at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle didst invest 
The rising world of waters, dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless infinite. 

"SUBLIMITY." 

From the Book of Psalms. 

Bless the Lord, my soul ! Lord, my God, Thou art very great. 
Thou art clothed with honor and majesty ; who coverest thyself with light 
as with a garment ; who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain : who 
layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters : who maketh the clouds 
His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the wind; who laid the 
foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed forever. 

2. EXPULSIVE OBOTUJSTD. 

Examples. 

"DECLAMATORY STYLE." 

Webster's Speech of John Adams. 
Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves 
this measure ; and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that 
I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon 
it ; and I leave off, as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am 
for the declaration. It is my living sentiment ; and, by the blessing of 
God, it shall be my dying sentiment : — independence now, and independ- 
ence forever ! 



20 



"IMPASSIONED." 

From Carey's Oi>e on Eloquence. 

Where rests the sword ? — where sleep the brave? 
Awake ! Cecropia's ally save 

From the fury of the blast ! 
Burst the storm on Phocis' walls, — 
Rise ! or Greece forever falls ; 

Up ! or Freedom breathes her last ! 

3. EXPLOSIVE OROTUND. 

Examples. 
"IMPASSIONED." 
Ode to the Greeks. 

Strike for the sires who left you free ! 

Strike for their sakes who bore you ! 
Strike for your homes and liberty, 

And the Heaven you worship, o'er you ! 

" IMPASSIONED." 

Antony, to the Conspirators. — Shakspeare. 

Villains ! you did not threat, when your vile daggers 

Hacked one another in the sides of Caesar ! 

You showed your teeth like apes, and fawned like hounds, 

And bowed like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet ; 

Whilst damned Casca; like a cur, behind, 

Struck Caesar on the neck. — Oh ! flatterers ! 

ASPIRATED. 

The Aspirated Tone is a forcible breathing or whisper- 
ing utterance, and is used to express fear, anger, terror, 
revenge, and remorse. 

Examples. 

" TEREOR." 

Macbeth, to the Ghost of Banquo. 

Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold : 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
Which thou dost glare with ! 



AND ORATORY. 21 

Hence, horrible shadow ! 
Unreal mockery, hence ! 

" FEAR." 

Caliban conducting Stephano and Trinculo to the cell ob Pros- 
pero, — Shalcspeare. 

Pray you tread softly, — that the blind mole may not 
Hear a footfall ; we are now near his cell. 

Speak softly ! 
All's hushed as midnight yet. 

See'st thou here ? 
This is the mouth o' the cell : no noise ! and enter. 

GUTTURAL. 

The Guttural is a deep, aspirated tone of voice, used to 
express aversion, hatred, loathing, and contempt. 

Examples. 
"AVERSION" AND HATRED." 

Shtlock, regarding Antonio. 
How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him, for he is a Christian ; 
But more, for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usuance with us here in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him ! 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest. — Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him ! 

"LOATHING AND CONTEMPT." 

Masaniello, in reply to the base suggestions op Genuino. 

I would that now 
I could forget the monk who stands before me ; 
For he is like the accursed and crafty snake ! 
Hence ! from my sight ! — Thou Satan, get behind me, 
Go from my sight! — I hate and I despise thee! 



22 wiley's elocution 

These were thy pious hopes ; and I, forsooth, 
Was in thy hands a pipe to play upon ; 
And at thy music my poor soul to death 
Should dance before thee ! 



V. ARTICULATION. 

Articulation is the distinct utterance of all the oral 
elements in syllables and words, according to the most 
approved custom of pronouncing them. With faithful 
practice on the following examples, giving to each syllable 
and letter its proper sound, the student will find little dif- 
ficulty in articulation. 

Remember, that in good articulation, very much de- 
pends upon opening the mouth sufficiently, so that nothing 
can impede a round, full tone of voice. 

A daily practice, upon the following examples, cannot 
be too strictly enjoined ; because there is nothing that indi- 
cates Vocal Culture more plainly than good articulation. 

Examples. 

1. He be^ed to be permitted to stay. 

2. The foulest stain anc? scandal of our nature, 
Becomes its boast One murder makes a villain, 
J/illions a hero. 

3. Bright angels ! strike your loudest springs, — 
Your sweetest voices raise. 

, 4. I love my country's pine-clac? /alls, 
Her thousand bright and pushing rills, 

Her sunshine and her storms ; 
Her rough and rugged rocks that rear 
Their Aoary Aeads Aigh in the air, 

In wile? fantastic forms. 

5. The cricket kept creeping across the crevice3. 

6. For fear of offending the /rightful fugitive, the vile vagabond 
ventured to vilify the venerable veteran. 

1. While wandering where the Whirlpool we?ids its winding ?oay, 
We wistfully watched the wrathful waters wildly play. 






AND ORATORY. 23 

8. The s'ripling stranger stayed straight toward the smuggling stream. 

9. The sleepy sluggard sits s/umbering silently. 

10. All that's bright niustf fade, — 

The brightest still the fleetest ; 
All that's sweet was made 

But to be los£ when sweetest 

11. He carves with classic chisel the Corinthian capital that crowns 
the column. 

12. Now on his couch he shrunk and shivered. 

13. Morn that now meefst the orient sun, now Hfst. 

14. Yet say, should tyrarcfe learn at last to feel, 
And the loud din of battle cease to bray ; 

Would death be foiled ? Would health, and strength, and youth, 

Defy his power ? iTas he no arte in store, 

No other shafts save those of war ? Alas ! 

Even in the smile of peace — that smile which shed's 

A heavenly suns/ane o'er the soul, — there bas&s 

That serpm* — Luxury. 

15. The Almighty sustains and conduces the universe. It was He who 
separated the jarring elements / It was He who hung up the worlds in 
empty space ! It is He who preserves them in their circus, and impels 
them in their course ! 

16. The bliss of man, — could pride that blessing find, — 
Is not to a.ct or thin& beyond mankind. 

17. All the oriental faster of the richest gems, all the enchasing beau- 
ties of exterior shape, the exquisite of all forms, the loveliness of color, 
the harmony of sounds, the heat and brightness of the enlivening sun, the 
heroic virtue of the bravest minds, with the purity and quickness of the 
highest intellect, are all emanations from the Deity. 



VI. MODULATION.* 

Modulation includes the consideration of Key, Varia- 
tions, Force, and Rate. 



* The terms and a part of the definitions in modulation are adopted from Man- 
deville. 



24 wiley's elocdtion 

KEY. 

The Key, otherwise called pitchy is the predominating 
tone of reading or speaking. 

Accurately speaking, there are as many keys as there are half tones 
and even quarter tones of the voice; any one of which may be made at 
pleasure, the 'predominating tone of reading or speaking. 

For convenience, and for practice, Key is commonly 
divided into low key, middle key, and high key. 

1. LOW KEY. 

The Low Key should generally be used in expressing 
deep solemnity, awe, amazement, horror, despair, melan- 
choly, and deep grief. 

The exceedingly low key of these and similar states of feeling, is one 
of those universal facts which necessarily becomes a law of vocal expression, 
and consequently an indispensable rule of Elocution. Any passage strongly 
marked by the language of one of these emotions, becomes utterly inex- 
pressive without its appropriate deep notes ; and yet this fault is one of the 
most prevalent in reading, especially with the youth. 

Examples. 
" DEEP SOLEMNITY, AND AWE." 

[Effusive and Expulsive orotund.] 

Cato, in Soliloquy. — Addison. 

It must be so ; — Plato, thou reasonest well ! 

Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 

Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 

'T is the Divinity that stir's within us : 

'T is Heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 

And intimates Eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing, — dreadful thought ! 

Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 



AND OIIATORY. 25 

"HORROR AND DESPAIR." 

[Aspirated Quality.] 

The Pestilence. — Porteous. 

At dead of night, 
In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence : 
Contagion, close behind, taints all her steps 
With poisonous dew : no smiting hand is seen, 
No sound is heard ; but soon her secret path 
Is marked with desolation : heaps on heaps 
Promiscuous drop. No friend, no refuge, near : 
All, all is false and treacherous around, 
All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is Death ! 

"DEEP GRIEF." 

[Effusive and Expulsive orotund.] 

Affliction and Desolation. — Young. 

In every varied posture, place, and hour, 
How widowed every thought of every joy ! 
Thought, busy thought ! too busy for my peace ! 
Through the dark postern of time long elapsed, 
Led softly, by the stillness of the night, 
Led like a murderer, (and such it proves !) 
Strays, (wretched rover !) o'er the pleasing past : 
In quest of wretchedness perversely strays, 
And finds all desert now. 

2. MIDDLE KEY. 

The Middle Key should generally be used in common 
conversation, in the delivery of a literary or scientific essay, 
a doctrinal sermon, a plain practical oration on any subject 
limited to purposes of mere utility, and demanding tbe ac- 
tion of reason and judgment. 

Examples. 

"LITERARY ESSAY." 

[Declamatory style, Expulsive orotund.] 

Pure Love. 

Raleigh's cheerfulness, during his last days, was so great, and his fear- 
lessness of death so marked, that the Dean of Westminster who attended 

2 



26 wiley's elocution 

him, wondering at bis deportment, reprehended the lightness of his man- 
ner. But Raleigh gave God thanks that he had never feared death ; for 
it was but an opinion and an imagination ; and, as for the manner of 
death, he had rather die so than in a burning fever ; that some might have 
made shows outwardly ; but he felt the joy within. 

" EARNEST PRACTICAL ORATION." 

[Declamatory style, Expulsive orotund.] 

Love op Country. — Sidney Smith. 

Whence does this love of our country, this universal passion, proceed ? 
Why does the eye ever dwell with fondness upon the scenes of infant life ? 
Why do we breathe with greater joy the breath of our youth ? Why are 
not other soils as grateful, and other heavens as gay ? Why does the soul 
of man ever cling to that earth where it first knew pleasure and pain, 
and, under the rough discipline of the passions, was roused to the dignity 
of moral life ? Is it only that our country contains our kindred and our 
friends ? And is it nothing but a name for our social affections ? 

It cannot be this ; the most friendless of human beings, has a country 
which he admires and extols, and which he would, in the same circumstan- 
ces, prefer to all others under heaven. Tempt him with the fairest face 
of nature, place him by living waters under shadowy trees of Lebanon, 
open to his view all the gorgeous allurements of the sunniest climates, he 
will love the rocks and deserts of his childhood better than all these, and 
thou canst not bribe his soul to forget the land of his nativity. 

3. HIGH KEY. 

The High Key should generally be used in expressing 
brisk, gay, and joyous emotions; also the extremes of pain, 
grief, and fear, which from their preternaturally exciting 
power, cause the peculiar shrill, convulsive cries and shrieks 
which express these passions. 

This key of voice, though seldom used in ordinary reading, ought to 
be practiced thoroughly, as it tends to give strength, scope, and command 
to the voice, and as it is frequently employed in public speaking. Almost 
every one can speak in a high key, while but few can do it without a shrill, 
unpleasant tone. It should not be forgotten, either, that it is not he who 
speaks the loudest who can be heard the furthest. A scientific observer 
remarks, " It is a curious fact in the history of sound, that the loudest 
noises always perish on the spot where they are produced, whereas musical 
notes will be heard at a great distance." 



AND ORATORY. 27 

Examples. 

"BRISK, JOYOUS STYLE." 

[Expulsive Orotund.] 

From the Hymn of the Stars. — Bryant. 

Away, away ! through the wide, wide sky, — 

The fair blue fields that before us lie, — 

Each sun with the worlds that round him roll, 

Each planet, poised on her turning pole, 

With her isles of green, and her clouds of white, 

And her waters that lie like fluid light ! 

For the source of glory uncovers his face, 
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ; 
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides 
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides : 
Lo ! yonder the living splendors play ! 
Away ! on our joyous path away ! 

Away, away ! — In our blossoming bowers, 

In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours, 

In the seas and fountains that shine with morn, 

See, Love is brooding, and Life is born ; 

And breathing myriads are breaking from night, 

To rejoice like us, in motion and light ! 

" GAY, BRISK." 

[Pure Tone.] 
Spring. — Bryant. 
Is this a time to be gloomy and sad, 

When our mother Nature laughs around ; 
When even the deep blue heavens look glad, 

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 

The clouds are at play, in the azure space, 

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale, 

And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 
And there they roll on the easy gale. 

And look at the broad-faced sun how he smiles 

On the dewy earth that smiles on his ray, 
On the leaping waters and gay young isles, — 

Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. 



28 



TRANSITION IN, KEY. 

Examples. 
" FROM HORROR TO TRANQUILLITY." 

[From Very Low to Middle Key.] 

Stanzas from a Russian Poet. — Bowring. 

Very Low. 

How frightful the grave ! how deserted and drear ! 

With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, 

And the white bones all clattering together ! 

Middle Key. 
How peaceful the grave ! its quiet how deep : 
Its zephyrs breathe calmly ; and soft is its sleep ; 
And flowrets perfume it with ether. 

"FROM RAPTURE TO GRIEF." 

[From Yery High to Low Key.] 
Very High. 
Ring joyous chords ! — ring out again! 
A swifter still and a wilder strain ! 
And bring fresh wreaths ! — we will banish all 
Save the free in heart from our festive hall. 
On through the maze of the fleet dance, on ! 

Low Key. 
But where are the young and the lovely ? — gone ! 
Where are the brows with the red rose crowned, 
And the floating forms with the bright zone bound? 
And the waving locks and the flying feet, 
That still should be where the mirthful meet ? — 
They are gone ! — they are fled, they are parted all : 
Alas ! the forsaken hall ! 

MONOTONE. 

The Monotone, though perhaps not coming under the 
head of Key, will be far better understood if treated here, 
than elsewhere. 

The Monotone is speaking without change of hey : that 



AND OKATOKY. . 29 

is, preserving a fulness of tone, without ascent or descent 
on the scale. 

The Monotone when given in a low key, and without force, is much 
more audible than when the voice slides up and down. 

Actors adopt this tone when repeating passages aside. It conveys 
the idea of being inaudible to those with them in the scene, by being in a 
lower tone ; and by being in a Monotone becomes audible to the whole 
house. 

Generally the Monotone requires a low tone of voice, 
with slow and prolonged utterance. It is the ONLY tone 
that can properly present the supernatural and ghostly. 

This is the best tone, by far, to practice, in the cultiva- 
tion of the voice. 

Examples. 

Milton. 



1. High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind, 

Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat ! 

2. How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 



Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof, 



By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe 



And terror on my aching sight : the tombs 
And monumental caves of death look cold, 



And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. , 
Shakspeare. 



3. 1 am thy father's spirit ; 

Doomed for a Certain term to walk the night, 

And, for the day confined to fast in fires, 

Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 

Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 

To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 

Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; 

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; 



30 

Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And eack.particular hair to stand on end, 

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 

But this eternal blazon must not be 

To ears of flesh and blood : — List, — list, — O list I — 

If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 

Keveuge his foul and most unnatural murder. 

VARIATIONS. 

By Vocal Variation, is meant the different movements 
of the voice, or variations, from the key, in the delivery of 
a sentence. These are the Sweeps, the Bend, the Slides, 
and the Closes. 

1. SWEEPS. 

The most important are the Emphatic Sweeps. 

The movement of the voice, which a development of 
the Emphatic Sweeps requires, is a sweep upward from the 
key to the word emphasized, and, coming down upon the 
word, with increased force, is carried below the key and 
again back to it. The upper movement is called the Upper 
Sweep : the lower movement, the Lower Sweep. 

Thus ; 



Examples* 

They were gone on your arrival ? 
You overcame him in the struggle ? 
He rode to London last week ? 

Accentual Sweeps take the same movement of the Emphatic, though 
very much diminished in extent, and are generally developed upon one 
syllable or word : — The Accentual Sweeps in this movement may be com- 
pared to the ripples upon a lake ; while the Emphatic may be likened to 
the great waves of the sea. 

The movement of the Accentual Sweeps may be observed, in the fol- 
lowing sentence, if read without Emphasis. Thus : - 

Examples. 
Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne 
In rayless majesty now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world. 



AND OKATOKY. 31 

2. BEND. 

The Bend is a slight turn of the voice upward, at a 
pause of imperfect sense. 

The use of the Bend in reading and speaking will be 
found of the greatest utility, as it gives life and animation 
to the subject : especially in opening an address use the 
Bend as much as possible, as it aids materially in gaining 
the good will and sympathy of the audience. 

Examples. 

Trained and instructed', strengthened by wise discipline', and guided 
by pure principle,' it ripens into an intelligence' but little lower than the 



Ladies,' and gentlemen,' our country at this hour,' not only needs 
patriotism in the field,' but also all the aid of noble hearts at home. 

3. SLIDES. 

The Upward Slide. The Downward Slide. The Wav- 
ing Slide. The Double Slide. 

THE TJPWAKD SLIDE, 

is a gradual rise of the voice upward through a series of 
tones, ceasing at the highest. Thus: ■ """" 7 

Examples. 

Would you deny being useful to the present generation, because you 
have been wounded by the poisoned shaft of envy ? 

Are you a scholar, and shall the land of Muses ask your help in 
vain? 

Can the deep statesman, skilled in great design, 

Protect but for a day precarious breath ? 
Or the tuned follower of the sacred nine, 
Soothe with his melody, insatiate death? 



is the reverse of the Upward : carrying the voice downward 
through a series of tones, ceasing at the lowest. 

Thus: ' — ■ 1 



32 



Examples. 

Who is there so cold that did not weep when Mighty Caesar fell 

Who but rather turns 
To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, 
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame? 

THE WAVING SLIDE, 

has the precise movement of the Emphatic Sweeps. 
Thus: 



Examples. 
They were gone on your arrival ? 

You joined the " Army of the Oriskany " on that occasion ? 
They visited Washington on Saturday ? 

THE DOUBLE SLIDE, 

is used in the delivery of all questions where the disjunctive 
conjunction or is present: the or forming the point at 
which the one ends, and the other begins. The voice takes 
the movement of the Upward Slide to or, and the Down- 
ward Slide from it to the close. 

Examples. 

Are the stars that gem the vault of the heavens above us, mere dec- 
orations of the night; or are they revolving suns and centres of planetary 
systems ? 

Was it a wailing bird of the gloom, 

Which shrieked on the house of woe all night ? 

Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb ? 

4. CLOSES. 

assise -?""M:j 

in the following examples. 

The Partial Close is a fall of the voice at the end of one 
of the parts of a sentence to the key, or to a point near the 
key, preparatory to the Perfect Close. 



AND ORATORY. 33 

The Perfect Close is a fall of the voice, at the end of a 
sentence, to a point generally below the key. 

Examples of loth in Connection. 

Before closing this I wish to make one observation :\ I 
shall make it once for all. 

History, as it has been written, is the genealogy of 
princes : x - the field book of conquerors. 

FORCE. 

Reading with greater or less Force, is simply reading 
with more or less volume of voice upon the same key. 
There are many reasons why we should be judicious in the 
use of Force. First, if too little Force be used, the rear 
portion of the audience will not hear distinctly. Secondly, 
if too much Force be used, the speaking will be too loud for 
those nearest the rostrum. Thirdly, the continued use of 
an unusual degree of Force, destroys the flexibility of the 
voice ; and leaves no room for an increase of volume, when 
the nature of the sentence absolutely demands greater force. 

Stress, according to Dr. Rush, is but the rendering 
of Force perceptible or impressive, in single sounds. 

There are, properly, three kinds : the Radical, the 
Median, and the Increasing. 

1. The Radical is generally explosive, and falls on the 
first part of a sound. 

Examples. 
[Explosive Utterance, Orotund, High Key,] 
Strike, for the sires who left your free ! 
Strike, for their sakes who bore you ! 
Strike for your homes and Liberty, 
And the Heaven you worship o'er you ! 

[Explosive Utterance, Pure Tone, High Key.] 
Voice of Spring. — Mrs. Heman-s. 
Ye of the rose lip and the dew-bright eye 

And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly ! 
2* 



34: wiley's elocution 

With the lyre and the wreath and the joyous lay, 
Come forth to the sunshine, — I may not stay. 

[The same as before.] 
Spring. — Bryant. 

There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 
There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree, 

There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower 
And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea ! 

2. The Median is generally expulsive, and swells out 
towards the middle of a sound, and vanishes towards the 
close. 

Examples. 

[Effusive Utterance, Pure Tone, Middle Key.] 

Deatii of the Good Man. — Bryant. 

Why weep ye, then, for him, who, having won 
The bound of man's appointed years, — at last, 
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done, 
Serenely to his final rest has passed ; 
While the soft memory of his virtues', yet, 
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set ? 

His youth was innocent ; his riper age, 

Marked with some act of goodness, every day ; 

And, watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage 

Faded his late declining years away. 

Cheerful he gave his being up, and went 

To share the holy rest that waits a life well spent. 

[ Expulsive Utterance, Pure Tone, Middle Key.] 
Pleasures op the Naturalist. — Wood. 

Whether the naturalist be at home or abroad, in every different 
clime, and in every season of the year, universal nature is before him, and 
invites to a banquet richly replenished with whatever can invigorate his 
understanding, or gratify his mental taste. The earth on which he treads, 
the air in which he moves, the sea along the margin of which he walks, 
all teem with objects that keep his attention perpetually awake, excite him 
to healthful activity, and charm him with an ever-varying succession of the 
beautiful, the wonderful, the useful, and the new. 



AND OKATOEY. 35 

3. The Increasing, effusive at first, increases till the 
last moment of the sound, and ends with the explosive. 

Examples. 

[Aspirated Quality, Low Key.] 

King Henry V. to Lord Scroop, on the detection op his Treason. — 
Shakspeare. 

But oh ! 
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel 
Ungrateful, savage, and inhuman creature ! 
Thou that didst bear the keys of all my counsels, 
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul, 
That almost might'st have coined me into gold, 
Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use ? 

[Aspirated and guttural Quality, Middle Key.] 
Queen Constance, to the Archduke op Austria. — JShalcspeare. 
Thou slave ! thou wretch ! thou coward ! 
Thou little valiant, great in villany ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou Fortune's champion, that dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! 

RATE. 

Rate must necessarily vary with the nature of the 
thought, and the emotion. It has been observed that the 
tendency of American orators is, to undue rapidity. The 
Rate should not be so slow that the Audience may antici- 
pate what we are about to say ; and (as good Articulation 
is one of the most necessary requisites of a good orator) 
it should not be so fast, that the Articulation is rendered 
indistinct. Generally Slow Rate should be practiced. Be- 
cause in speaking thus, an orator has the air of self-posses- 
sion, — can Articulate distinctly, and has, in reserve, the 
power to increase the Rate, where the nature of the sen- 
tence may absolutely demand it. 



36 wiley's elocution 



VII. DELIVERY. 

All sentences are comprehended in three classes: the 
Declarative, the Interrogative, and the Exclamatory. 

Declarative sentences state or declare something, of 
time past, present or future; affirmatively or negatively; 
as true or false ; possible or impossible ; &c. 

Interrogative sentences are such as contain questions. 

Exclamatory sentences are such as are employed to 
express emotion or passion. 

DECLARATIVE. 

Rule 1. Declarative sentences are delivered with the 
Bend at intermediate pauses, when life, cheerfulness, or 
joy is required, and the Partial Close, when sorrow, or 
great emphasis is required. 

Examples. 

1. He left his father's house' for the halls of the academy. 

2. Fire of imagination/ strength of mind,' and firmness of soul,' are 
gifts of nature. 

3. In man or woman,' but far most in man / 
And most of all' in man that ministers 
And serves the altar/ in my soul I loathe* 
All affectation/ 

4. I protest against the measure, as cruel/ oppressive/ tyrannous, 
and vindictive*. 

INTERROGATIVE. 

Interrogative sentences are either Definite, Indefinite, 
or Indirect. 

DEFINITE. 

The Definite are such as begin with verbs, and may be 
answered by yes or no. 

Rule 2. Definite Interrogative Sentences are delivered 
with the Rising Slide ending only with the last word. 



AND OEATOKY. 37 

Examples. 

1. Did not even-handed Justice, commead the poisoned chalice to 
their own lips ? 

2. Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward my hand ? 

3. Should not merchants be prompt in paying their debts ? 

4. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle ? 

5. Heard ye those loud contending waves, 

That shook Cecropia's pillared state ? 
Saw ye the mighty from their graves, 
Look up, and tremble at their fate ? 

6. Does prodigal autumn to our age deny 

The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye ? 

f J. Will he quench the ray 

Infused by his own forming smile at first, 
And leave a work so far all blighted and accursed? 

8. Will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form 
And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
And pretty face, in presence of his God? 

9. Can we want obedience then 

To him, or possibly his love desert, 
Who formed us from the dust and placed us here, 
Full to the utmost measure of what bliss 
Human desires can seek or apprehend? 

10. Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn 
The just decree of God, pronounced and sworn, 
That to his only Son, by right endued 

With regal sceptre, every soul in heaven 
Shall bend the knee, and in that honor due 
Confess him rightful king ? 

11. Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race 
With his own image, and who gave them sway 
O'er earth, and the glad dwellers on her face, 
Now that our flourishing nations far away 

Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, 
Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed 
His latest offspring ? 



38 



Exceptions to Rule 2. 

There are, however, no Exceptions, save for the sake of emphasis. 

Exception 1. When the same Definite question is re- 
peated, the repetition should be delivered with the Down- 
ward Slide. 

Examples. 

1. Has he returned ? Has he returned? 

2. Do you hear the rain ? Mr. Caudle. Do you hear the rain ? 

3. Has the gentleman done ? Has he completely done ? 

Exception 2. A series of Definite Interrogatives should 
have the last member delivered with the Downward Slide. 

Examples. 

1. Do you know me, Sir? Am I Dromio? 
Am I your man ? Am I myself ? 

2. Shy. Three thousand ducats : well. 
Bass. Ay, Sir, for three months. 
Shy. For three months ; well. 

Bass. For the which, I told you, Antonio shall be bound. 
Shy. Antonio shall become bound ; well. 
Bass. May you stead me ? Will you pleasure me ? 
Shall I know your answer ? 

INDEFINITE. 

The Indefinite are such as begin with adverbs and rela- 
tive pronouns, and cannot be answered by yes or no. 

Mule 3. Indefinite Interrogative sentences are delivered 
with the Upper Emphatic sweep to the emphatic word, and 
the Downward Slide from it to the close. 

Examples. 

1. When may a man be said to be properly educated ? 

2. What advantages result from the possession of elegance, or delicacy 
of taste ? 

< 3. When was it that Rome attracted most strongly the admiration of 



AND ORATOKY. 39 

mankind, and impressed the deepest sentiment of fear on the hearts of her 
enemies ? 

4. What scourge for perjury- 
Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ? 

5. What constitutes a State ? 

6. What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue in nqjse against 
me? 

*7. Whence is that knocking ? 

8. How is 't with me, when every noise appalls me ? 

Exception to Rule 3. 
Exception. An Indefinite repeated for the sake of em- 
phasis, or to obtain a more distinct answer, is delivered 
with the Upward Slide. 

Examples. 

1. When will you go to Boston ? Next week. 

When will you go to Boston ? Next week. 

2. Falstaff. A plague on all cowards, say I. 
Prince Henry. What's the matter ? 

Fat. What's the matter ? Here be four of us have taken a thousand 

pounds this morning. 
Prince H. Where is it, Jack ? Where is it ? 
Pal. Where is it? taken from us, it is. 

INDIRECT. 

The Indirect are interrogatives in a declarative form. 

Rule 4. Indirect interrogative sentences are delivered 
with the Waving Slide : that is, the Upper Sweep to the 
emphatic word, and the Lower Sweep from it. 

Examples. 

1. You assisted at the Capitol this morning ? 

2. They visited Egypt before returning ? 

3. Surely you will return to-morrow? 

4. I certainly must have seen you at Chicago ? 

5. Thou art not wont to join in the prattle of the common people at 
Rome ? 

6. Surely he will leave it in the care of his country ? 



40 

Exception to Rule 4. 
Exception. In a series of Indirect interrogate es the last 
member should be delivered like a Declarative. 

Examples. 

1. You have an elegant show case at your window ? Yes, sir. And 
you seem highly pleased with it ? Yes, sir. 

2. You visited the Exposition at Paris ? Yes, sir. You saw the Emperor 
of France ? Yes, sir. And the Turkish train ? Yes, sir. On the whole, 
you must have seen very many wonders ? Yes, sir, many. 

EXCLAMATORY. 

Exclamatory sentences are Declarative, Interrogative, 
and Spontaneous. 

All Exclamatory sentences are, in reality, either Declarative or Interroga- 
tive sentences, and are delivered with precisely the same movement of voice, 
but (for the sake of Exclamation) with a greater degree of emotion or 
passion expressed. Hence, 

Mule 5. Exclamatory sentences are delivered like the 
Declarative and Interrogative sentences from which they 
are derived ; except that they require in addition tho 
peculiar effects of the emotions and passions. 



Examples of Declare 

1. I will paint the death-dew on his brow ! 

2. Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit, 
And look on death itself ! 

3. She murmured as she died ! 

4. Think on thy chains ! 

5. Look on this wedge of gold ! 

6. The starless grave shall shine 
The portal of eternal day ! 

Examples of Interrogative. 
DEFINITE. 

1. Is that vile tbing the cause of this ! 

2. Can it be possible ! 

3. "Was it not a terrible night when we met on the beach ! 

4. Do you think they did the deed ! 



AND ORATORY. 41 

INDEFINITE. 

1. Whence comes that noise ! 

2. Who ever thought 

In such a homely piece of stuff, to see 
The mighty Senate's tool ! 

3. How his eyes glare ! 

4. Who did the murder ! 

INDIRECT. 

1. You do not believe he joined in the riot ! ' 

2. Let them not die in that terrible manner ! 

3. He saved his family from the burning walls ! 

4. Thou wouldst not have me make a trial of my skill upon my child ! 

Examples of Spontaneous. 

See there ! Behold ! Avaunt ! Hurra ! Hold ! Away ! Look ! 
Shame ! Lo ! Lush ! Hush ! 

They are called Spontaneous because they are generally uttered without 
deliberation. 

While the preceding rules apply to simple sentences, 
there are very few compound sentences that are really excep- 
tions to these rules; or, of which a thorough knowledge 
of them will not determine the delivery. Therefore, the 
student, next in value to a knowledge of the voice, should 
thoroughly acquaint himself with these rules. 



VIII. PHONETIC LAUGHTER 

Laughter as an art, may be easily learned by the aid of 
Phonetics. It is one of the most interesting and healthy 
of all vocal exercises. There are in the English language 
thirty-two well defined varieties of laughter. 

Eighteen are produced in connection with the Tonics 
«, e, i, o, u y nine with the Subtonics of I, m, n, ng, r, th, 
v, and z / and five with the Atonies of f, h, s, th, and sh. 

In practicing the student should first utter a tonic, and 



42 

then prefixing the oral element of h, should produce in 
continued repetition the syllable ; as, a, ha, ha, ha, &c. ; a, 
ha, ha, &c 

IX. GESTURE. 

Gesture shouts oe" Used only when it will aid in express- 
ing language more forcibly; and, to be appropriate and 
impressive, it must always be natural ; for, when Gesture 
appears studied and artificial, it obviously destroys the 
effect. 

No speaker should be so prolific or eccentric in gesture, 
that his audience will notice any peculiarities of gesture, 
but will remember only, that all were graceful and appro- 
priate. The learner will find the following rules of value. 

1. The Gesture employed most frequently, is the move- 
ment used in handing a book or other article to a friend. 

And what is the delivery of an oration, but simply the 
presentation of ideas to the audience ? 

Position of the Hand : The hand o-pen : the first 
finger straight, the others slightly curved ; and generally 
the palms of the hands open toward the audience, so that 
they may be seen by the audience. 

2. The Argumentative, commonly called the " Henry 
Clay " gesture may, and should be used most frequently in 
debate, and argumentative declamation. 

Position of the Hand : First finger straight, the 
others closed, or nearly so. 

This gesture is very useful in earnest debate ; as it was 
often remarked of Clay that the arguments seemed to drop 
from the end of his finger. These gestures, indeed, as they 
serve to bring the thoughts and arguments to a points are 
of great value in any discourse. 

3. The Fist, sometimes called the " Sledge-Hammer " 
gesture, should be used in the expression of the most 
earnest, powerful, moving sentiments where strong argu- 



AND ORATORY. 43 

ments are to be brought out with telling effect. This 
gesture was a favorite one with Daniel Webster ; and in 
those memorable debates with Hayne in the United States 
Senate, he is said to have riveted his arguments with the 
force of a giant, when at every appropriate place, he 
brought down his "Sledge-Hammer" gesture; as, in the 
expression, " Liberty and Union, now and for ever, one and 
inseparable.' 1 ' 1 

GESTURE, WHEN USED. 

Save in debate and argumentative orations, gesture 
should seldom be used, except when referring to some 
object in nature. 

1. When referring to the earth covered with snow, to 
withering famine, to desolation in whatever respect ; or, 
when referring to death, or hell, always have the palm of 
the hand downward ; and the arm raised but slightly from 
the body. 

Examples. 

The time 
Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar ; 
And ere it comes, the encountering winds shall oft 
Muster their wrath again, and rapid clouds 
Shade heaven, and bounding on the frozen earth 
Shall fall their volleyed stores, rounded like hail 
And white like snow, and the loud North again 
Shall buffet the vexed forest in his rage. — Bryant. 

2. When referring to the earth robed in green, to the 
trees and flowers in bloom ; to life, or to abundance, always 
have the palm of the hand upward, and often raised as high 
as the head. 

Examples. 
Now the bright morning stai*, day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. 
Hail beauteous May, that dost inspire 
Mirth and vouth and warm desire ! — Milton. 



4A wiley's elocution 

i 

In all cases, be careful to complete the gesture, where 
it is intended, at the instant of uttering the syllable or 
word ; for, if it comes in before or lags behind the word, 
it will certainly detract from the effect. 



X. RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

Rhetorical Pauses are those which require a suspension 
of the voice in reading or speaking, although the construc- 
tion of the sentence admits of no grammatical pause. 

The Rhetorical pause occurs, either directly before, or 
directly after the utterance of an important thought ; and 
is found as frequently where there is not as where there is 
a grammatical pause. 

In the following examples Rhetorical pauses are denoted 
thus ( || ) ; but in general, the student must be guided by 
the sense. 

Examples. 

1. And there lay the steed | with his nostril all wide, 

But through them there rolled || not the breath of his pride, 
And the foam of his gasping | lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray II of the rock-beaten surf. 



2. The worst of slaves, is he || whom passion || rules. 

3. Glory I is like a circle || in the water, 
Which never ceaseth j| to enlarge itself, 

Till, by broad spreading, it disperse || to naught. 

4. There is a land || of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven || o'er all the world beside, 
Where brighter scenes || dispense serener light, 
And milder moons | imparadise the night ; 

Oh, thou shalt find, | howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land — thy country || and that spot — thy home. 

5. No self-plumed vanity || was there, 
With fancy's consequence || elate ; 
Unknown to her || the haughty air 
That means to speak || superior state. 



AND OKATORY. 45 

6. You may as well || go stand upon the beach, 

And bid the main-flood || bate his usual height ; 

You may as well || use question with the wolf, 

Why he hath made || the ewe bleat for the lamb ; 

You may as well || forbid the mountain pines 

To wag their high tops, |[ and to make no noise, 

When they are fretted || with the gusts of heaven ; 

You may as well || do any thing that's hard, 

As seek to soften || that, (than which, what's harder?) 

His Jewish heart. 
*J. Now the hungry || lion roars, 

And the wolf || behowls the moon ; 

While the heavy || ploughman snores, 

With his weary || task foredone. 

8. Now the wasted | brands do glow, 
While the screech-owl || screeching-loud, 
Puts the wretch || that lies in woe, 

In remembrance || of his shroud. 

9. She said | and struck; || deep entered | in her side 
The piercing steel, || with reeking purple dyed : 
Clogged | in the wound, || the cruel | weapon stands, 
The spouting blood || came streaming o'er her hands. 
Her sad attendants || saw the deadly stroke, 

And with loud cries || the sounding palace shook. 

XI. EMPHASIS. 

Emphasis is that change, or modulation of voice, that 
renders whatever the speaker desires to utter clear and 
expressive. 

The various movements of the voice are given under 
Sweeps and Force, in Modulation. There can be no other 
special rules, except that the meaning of the selections to 
be rendered be carefully studied. 

XII. PARENTHESIS. 

The Parenthesis is generally delivered more rapidly,- or 
in a more subdued tone than what precedes or follows it ; 
and, if the Parenthesis follows a part of a sentence making 



46 



imperfect sense, it terminates with the bend ; otherwise 
with the Partial, or Perfect Close. 

Examples. 

1. Know then this truth, (enough for man to know,) 
Virtue alone is happiness below. 

2. I have seen charity (if charity it may be called) insult with an air 
of pity. 

3. I am happy, said he (expressing himself with the warmest emotion), 
infinitely happy, in seeing you return. 

4. Surely, in this age of invention, something may be struck out to 
obviate the necessity (if such necessity exist) of so tasking the human 
intellect. 

5. Know ye not, brethren (for I speak to them that know the law), 
that the law hath dominion over a man as long as he liveth ? 



XIII. STYLE. 

The student should never attempt to deliver any selec- 
tion, until he first ascertains to what style it belongs. 
If it be 

1. Argumentative, he must deliver it as if debating; 
therefore earnest. 

2. Descriptive, he must deliver it as if actually describ- 
ing some scene. 

3. Persuasive, he must use those looks, tones, and 
gestures appropriately used in persuasion. 



XIV. THE PASSIONS. 

The student should always have his mind so wrought 
up to the proper pitch in which the passion should be 
rendered, that he may, with ease, be able to deliver it 
correctly. 

Great actors, before appearing in the character they are 
to personify, through force of will, work their minds up to 
the degree of passion required, and thus appear perfectly 
life-like. 



AND OEATOEY. 47 

Elocutionists, also, in exhibiting some vehement passion 
to a class, have brought their minds to such a pitch of 
phrensy, as to be several hours in overcoming its effects. 
Students should always, before attempting to express one 
of the passions, carefully examine in what Tone, Key, Force, 
and Rate it should be delivered : finding these, adapt the 
voice and expression to it, and then deliver it. 

Examples. 
1. "SCORN AND DEFIANCE." 
[Explosive Orotund, Middle Key.] 
From Pakadise Lost. — Milton. 
Satan, [to Death.'] " Whence and what art thou, execrable shape! 
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to pass, — 
That be assured, — without leave asked of thee : 
Retire ! or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, 
Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of heaven." 

2. "WRATH AND THREATENING." 
[Explosive Orotund, Low key.] 

Death, [in reply.] " Back to thy punishment, 

False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings ; 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or, with one stroke of this dart, 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before ! " 

3.. "EXHORTING." 
[Expulsive Orotund, High Key.] 

But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 
Be great in act, as you have been iu thought ; 
Let not the world see fear, and sad distrust 
Govern the motion of a kingly eye : 
Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire ; 
Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 
Of bragging horror : so shall inferior eyes, 
That borrow their behavior from the great, 
Grow great by your example, and put on 
The dauntless spirit of resolution. 



48 



4. "ANGER AND SCORN." 
[Explosive Utterance, Aspirated Tone, Low Key.] 

Thou slave ! thou wretch ! thou coward ! 
Thou little valiant, great in villainy ! 
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side ! 
Thou fortune's champion, thou dost never fight 
But when her humorous ladyship is by 
To teach thee safety ! Thou art perjured too, 
And sooth'st up greatness ! What a fool art thou, 
A ramping fool, to brag, and stamp, and sweat, 
Upon my party ! Thou cold-blooded slave, 
Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side ? 

5. "CAUTION." 

[Effusive Utterance, Pure Tone, Low Key.] 

Hush ! lightly tread ! still tranquilly she sleeps ; — 
I've watched, suspending e'en my breath, in fear 
To break the heavenly spell. Move silently ! 

6. "PITY." 

[Expulsive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

Oil ! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss — 
Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, 

Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 

Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ; 

Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form, or frame, from the merciless surge ; 

But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 

1. "UNRELENTING OBSTINACY." 

[Explosive Utterance, Aspirated, Low K^ey.] 

I'll have my bond ; I will not hear thee speak : 
I'll have my bond ; and therefore speak no more. 
I'll not be made a soft and dull-eyed fool, 
To shake the head, relent, and sigh, and yield 



AND OEATORY. 49 

To Christian intercessors. Follow not ; 

I'll have no speaking ! I will have my bond. 

8. " GRIEF." 
[Effusive and Expulsive, Orotund, High Key.] 

My daughter, once the comfort of my age, 

Lured by a villain from her native home, 
Is cast, abandon'd, on the world's wide stage, 

And doom'd in scanty poverty to roam. 

My tender wife, sweet soother of my care ! 

Struck with sad anguish at the stern decree, 
Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair ; 

And left the world to wretchedness and me. 

Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, 

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, 
Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span : 

Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. 

9. " SELF REPROACH." 

[Expulsive, Aspirated and Orotund, Middle Key.] 

what a rogue and peasant slave am I ; 

Is it not monstrous, that this player here, 

But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, 

Could force his soul so to his own counsel, ; 

That, from her working, all his visage warmed, 

Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, 

A broken voice, and his whole functions suiting, 

With forms to his conceit ; and all for nothing ; 

For Hec-u-ba ! What's Hec-u-ba to him, or he to Hec-u-ba, 

That he should weep for her ? 

10. "INTENSE FEAR." 
[Expulsive, Aspirated, Low Key,] 

Ah ! mercy on my soul ! What is that ? My old friend's ghost ? 
They say none but wicked folks walk ; I wish I were at the bottom of a 
coal-pit. See ! how long and pale his face has grown since his death; he 
never was handsome ; and death has improved him very much the wrong 
way. Pray do not come near me ! I wish'd you very well when you were 
alive; but I could never abide a dead man, cheek by jowl with me. 

Ah, ah, mercy on us ! No nearer, pray ; if it be only to take leave 
3 



50 



of me that you are come back, I could have excused you the ceremony 
with all my heart ; or if you — mercy on us ! no nearer, pray, or, if you 
have wronged any body, as you always loved money a little, I give you 
the word of a frightened Christian ; I will pray as long as you please for 
the deliverance or repose of your departed soul. My good, worthy, noble 
friend, do, pray disappear, as ever you would wish your old friend to come 
to his senses again. 

• 11. "SUSPICION." 

[Expulsive Orotund and Aspirated, Middle Key.] 

Would he were fatter ; but I fear him not : 

Yet, if my name were liable to fear, 

I do not know the man, I should avoid 

So soon as this spare Cassius. He reads much ; 

He is a great observer, and he looks 

Quite through the deeds of men. 

He loves no plays ; he hears no music; 
Seldom he smiles ; and smiles in such a sort, 
As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit, 
That could be moved to smile at any thing. 
Such men as he, be never at heart's ease, 
While they behold a greater than themselves, 
And therefore, are they very dangerous. 

12. "REMORSE." 
[Expulsive Orotund, Middle and Low Key.] 

Oh ! I have passed a miserable night, 
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights, 
That, as I am a Christian faithful man, 
I would not spend another such a night, 
Though 't were to buy a world of happy days, 
So full of dismal terror was the time ! 

My dream was lengthened after life : — 
Oh ! then began the tempest to my soul ! — 

With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends 
Environed me, and howled in mine ears 
Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, 
I trembling waked, and, for a season after, 
Could not believe but that I was in hell ; 
^uch terrible impression made my dream ! 



AND ORATORY. 51 

13. "RESIGNATION." 

[Effusive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear, 

How dark this world would be, 
If, when deceived and wounded here, 
We could not fly to thee ! 

The friends who in our sun shine live, 

When winter comes, are flown ; 
And he who has but tears to give 

Must weep those tears alone. 

But thou wilt heal that broken heart 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

14. "SUBLIMITY." 
[Expulsive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

thou vast Ocean ! — ever-sounding sea ! 
Thou symbol of a dread immensity ! 

Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep 
Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. 

1 love to wander on thy pebbled beach, 
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour, 

And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach — 
" Eternity, eternity, and power." 

15. "AWE." 

[Expulsive Orotund, Low and Middle Key.] 

A fearful hope — was all — the world contained : 
Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, 
They fell, and faded, and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash, and all was black. 
The brows of men, by the despairing light 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as, by fits, 
The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down, 
Ar.d hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smil'd ; 
And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up, 
With mad disquietude, on the dull sky, 



52 



The pall of a past world ; and then again, 
With curses, cast them down upon the dust, 
And gnashed their teeth, and howled. 

16. "SORROW." 

[Expulsive Orotund, Middle and High Key.] 

Seems, madam ! nay, it is : I know not seems, 
'T is not alone my inky cloak, good mother, 
Nor customary suits of solemn black, 
Nor windy suspiration of forced breath ; 
No, nor the fruitful river in the eye, 
Nor the dejected 'havior of the visage, 
Together with all forms, modes, shows of grief, 
That can denote me truly : these, indeed, seem, 
For they are actions that a man might play ; 
But I have that— within, which passeth show, 
These — but the trappings and the suits of wo. 

17. "FEAR." 

[Expulsive Utterance, Aspirated, Low Key.] 

Cicero. — Why are you breathless ? — and why stare you so? 

Ca&ca. — Are you not moved, when all the sway of earth 

Shakes, like a thing unfirm ? Cicero ! 

I have seen tempests, when the scoldiDg winds 

Have riv'd the knotty oaks ; and I have seen 

The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam, 

To be exalted with the threatening clouds ; 

But never till to-night, never till now, 

Did I go through tempests dropping fire. 

18. "REVERENCE." 
[Effusive Orotund, Low and Middle Key.] 

Lord, our Lord, how excellent is Thy name in all the earth ! who 
hast set Thy glory above the heavens. When I consider the heavens, the 
work of Thy fingers ; the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained; 
what is man that Thou art mindful of him ? and the son of man, that 
Thou visitest him ? 

For Thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast 
crowned him with glory and honor. Thou madest him to have dominion 
over the works of Thy hands : Thou hast put all things under his feet. 
Lord, our Lord, how excellent is Thy name in all the earth ! 



AND ORATORY. 53 

19. "HORROR." 

[Expulsive Utterance, Guttural, Low Key.] 
Avaunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! 
Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold : 
Thou hast no speculation in those eyes 
"Which thou dost glare 'with ! Hence, horrible shadow, 
Unreal mockery, hence ! 

20. "JOY." 

[Expulsive Utterance, Pure Tone, High Key.] 

Come, let us to the castle. — 

News, friends; our wars are done, the Turks are drown'd. 

How does my old acquaintance of this isle ? — 

Honey, you shall be well desired in Cyprus, 

I have found great love amongst them. my sweet, 

I prattle out of fashion, and I dote 

In mine own comforts. — Othello. 

21. "BITTER DENUNCIATION." 

[Explosive Utterance, Guttural, Low Key.] 

Thou den of Drunkards with the blood of princes ! 

Gehenna of the waters ! thou sea Sodom ! 

Thus I devote thee to the infernal gods ! 

Thee, and thy serpent seed !— Slave, do thine office ! 

Strike as I struck the foe ! Strike as I would 

Have struck those tyrants ! Strike deep as my curse ! 

Strike — and but once ! 

22. "HOPE." 
[Expulsive Orotund, High Key.] 

All's for the best ! be sanguine and cheerful, 

Trouble and Sorrow are friends in disguise ; 
Nothing but Folly goes faithless and fearful, 

Courage forever is happy and wise : 
All's for the best — if a man would but know it, 

Providence wishes us all to be blest ; 
This is no dream of the pundit or poet, 

Heaven is gracious, and — All's for the best ! 

All's for the best ! set this on your standard, 
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love, 



54 



Who to the shores of Despair may have wandered, 
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stiicken dove ; 

All's for the best ! — be a man but confiding, 
Providence tenderly governs the rest, 

And the frail bark of his creature is guiding 
Wisely and warily, all for the best. 

23. "COMMAND." 
[Expulsive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

Still " Onward ! " was his stern exclaim ; 
" Charge on the battery's jaws of flame ! 

Rush on the level gun ! 
'Each Hulan forward with his lance ! 
My steel-clad cuirassiers advance ! 
My guard, my chosen, charge for France — 

France and Napoleon ! " 

24. "MERCY." 
[Effusive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

The quality of mercy is not strain'd ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice bless'd ; 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest — in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned monarch — better than his crown; 
His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe — and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy — is above this sccptered sway, 
It is enthroned — in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself : 

And earthly power — doth then show likest God's, 
When mercy — seasons justice. 

25. "REVENGE." 
[Explosive Utterance, Aspirated and Guttural, Low Key.] 

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced 
me, and hinder'd me of half a million ; laugh'd at my losses, mocked at 
my gains, scorn' d my nation, thwarted my barg ins, cool'd my friends, 
heated mine enemies. And what's his reason ? I am a Jew ! Hath not 
a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands? organs, dimensions, senses, affec- 
tions, passions? Is he not fed with the same food; hurt with the same 



AND OEATOEY. 55 

weapons ; subject to the same diseases ; heal'd by the same means : warm'd 
and cool'd by the same summer and winter, as a Christian is? 

If you stab us, do we not bleed ? If you tickle us, do we not laugh ? 
If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not re- 
venge ? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a 
Jew wrong a Christian what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian 
wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example ? Why, 
Revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute ; and it shall go hard, 
but I will better the instruction. 

26. "ADORATION." 
[Effusive Orotund, Middle Key.] 
Thou art, God ! the life and light 

Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from thee. 
Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine ! 
When Day, with farewell beam, delays 

Among the opening clouds of even, 
And we can almost think we gaze 

Through golden vistas into Heaven, 
Those hues, that make the sun decline 

So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 

27. "SURPRISE." 
[Expulsive Orotund, High Key.] 
Gone to be married ; gone to swear a peace ! 
It is not so : thou hast misspoke, misheard ! 
Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again : 
It cannot be ! thou dost but say 't is so ; 
What dost thou mean by shaking of thy head ? 
What means that hand — upon that breast of thine? 
Why holds thine eye — that lamentable rheum ? 
Be these sad sighs — confirmers of thy words ? 
Then speak again ; not all thy former tale, 
But this one word — whether thy tale be true ? 

28. "ADMONITION." 
[Expulsive Orotund, Middle Key.] 

Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar ; but bv no means vulgar. 



56 wiley's elocution 

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 

Grapple them to thy soul, with hooks of steel ; 

But do not dull thy palm — with entertainment 

Of ev'ry new hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware 

Of entrance into quarrel ! but, being in, 

Bear it, that the opposer — may beware of thee. 

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice. 

Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 

Costly thy habit — as thy purse can buy, 

But not expressed in fancy ; rich, not gaudy. 

For the apparel — oft proclaims the man. 

Neither a borrower, nor a lender be ; 

For loan — oft loses both itself and friend, 

And borrowing — dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all — to thine own self be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not, then — be false to any man. 

29. ' ; REPROACH." 
[Explosive Orotund and Aspirated, Low Key.] 
Shame ! shame ! that in such a proud moment of life, 

Worth ages of history, — when, had you but hurl'd 
One holt at your bloody invader, that strife 

Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world,- 
That then, — ! disgrace upon manhood ! — e'en then 

You should falter, — should cling to your pitiful breath, — 
Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men, — 

And prefer a slave's life to a glorious death ! 

30. "ENVY AND HATRED." 
[Explosive Utterance, Guttural, Low Key.] 
How like a fawning publican he looks ! 
I hate him for he is a Christian ; 
But more for that, in low simplicity, 
He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
He hates our sacred nation ; and he rails, 
Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well- won thrift, 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
If I forgive him. — Merchant of Venice. 



AND OEATOEY. 57 



XV. DIRECTIONS FOE STUDENTS. 

1.— POSITION OF THE BODY. 

The first, and certainly, one of the most important 
directions to students is, that he should stand erect, and 
firm, and in such a posture that the chest may be fully ex- 
panded, and easy play given to the organs of respiration 
and utterance. 

2.— WEIGHT OF THE BODY. 

The weight of the body should be thrown upon one 
foot, leaving the other free to be thrown backward or for- 
wards ; or the weight of the body changed to rest upon 
it, and thus continuing to change as often as fatigue, or the 
action in speaking may require. 

"When the weight is thus resting upon one foot, the feet 
should be nearly, but never quite at right angles to each 
other. 

3.— POSITION OF THE HEAD. 

The head should be held in an erect and natural posi- 
tion, as this, in delivery, chiefly contributes to the expres- 
sion. For, when inclined to one side, it expresses languor ; 
when drooped, humility; when turned upwards pride; and 
when stiff and rigid, it indicates a lack of ease and self- 
possession. 

4.— THE EYES. 

As the eyes are the light of the body, so, also, in de- 
livery, they are the life of expression. They should occa- 
sionally glance toward the gesture, as that gives prominence, 
and attention to it ; when we wish to refuse or condemn, 
the eyes should be turned from the object. Otherwise the 
eyes should be toward the audience, and assume an expres- 
sion of earnestness. 

5.— MOVING UPON THE STAGE. 

Moving upon the stage, (while practicing,) even to 
excess, is advisable : because the grace of an orator is 
3* 



58 



conspicuoas in the ease with which he moves and changes 
his position. 

The student should, however, (except in cultivation,) 
be judicious in this practice; as too frequent movements 
upon the rostrum will indicate that he is disconcerted ; 
always excepting, however, such orators as Gough. 
6. -DRINKING WHILE SPEAKING. 

The thirst, which is experienced by many speakers, is 
simply a lack of self-possession ; and, as soon as the speaker 
is entirely at ease, the thirst will disappear. But the more 
he drinks the more thirsty he will become, and the more 
difficult it will be for him to control his voice. 

And the use of strong drink, for a stimulant while 
speaking, is one of the greatest mistakes an orator can 
make. For under the influence of stimulants the tendency 
is to speak with the utmost degree of force; and the result 
is hoarseness or a husky, squeaking tone. Students should 
never resort to stimulants of any kind, as they are injurious 
and unnatural. 

<7._VOCAL EXERCISE. 

" The management of the breath, in reading or speaking, requires 
great core so as not to be obliged to divide words from one another, 
which have so intimate a connection that they ought to be pronounced in 
the same breath, and without the least separation. Many sentences are 
marred and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made 
in the wrong place." — Sargent. 

" Reading aloud and recitation, are more useful and invigorating mus- 
cular exercises than is generally imagined ; at least, when managed with 
due regard to the natural powers of the individual, so as to avoid effort 
and fatigue. Both require the varied activity of most of the muscles of 
the trunk to a degree of which few are conscious till their attention is 
turned to it." — Combe; 

Exercising the vocal organs a few moments vigorously, 
about two hours before speaking in public, is an excellent 
practice to secure a good tone ; but care should be taken 
that this practice be not prolonged so as to weary the 
organs, else they may not recover their natural elasticity 
before speaking. 



AND OKATOKY. 59 

8.— TOBACCO INJURIOUS TO THE VOICE. 

" The use of tobacco, in any form, has a deleterious effect upon the 
speaking and breathing organs. It enfeebles the nervous system, and 
tends to make the voice dry, harsh, husky, and inflexible. 

" Public speakers who are votaries of the weed, if they cannot give 
it up entirely, ought, by all means, to refrain from the use of it for 
several hours previous to speaking or engaging in any public vocal exer- 
cise. For this brief period of self-denial they will be rewarded by a 
clearness and fullness of tone, and a flexibility of voice which will sur- 
prise and delight them." — Kidd. 



MODULATION. 



Lloyd. 

1. 'T is not enough the voice be sound and clear, 
'T is modulation that must charm the ear. 

That voice all modes of passion can express, 
Which marks the proper words with proper stress : 
But none emphatic can that speaker call, 
Who lays an equal emphasis on all. 
Some, o'er the tongue the labored measures roll, 
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll ; 
Point every stop, mark every pause so strong, 
Their words like stage processions stalk along. 

2. All affectation but creates disgust ; 
And e'en in speaking, we may seem too just. 
In vain for them the pleasing measure flows, 
Whose recitation runs it all to prose ; 
Repeating what the poet sets not down, 
The verb disjointing from its favorite noun, 
While pause, and break, and repetition join 
To make a discord in each tuneful line. 

3. Some placid natures fill the allotted scene 
With lifeless drawls, insipid and serene ; 
While others thunder every couplet o'er, 

And almost crack your ears with rant and roar. 
More nature oft, and finer strokes are shown 
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone ; 
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze, 
More powerful terror to the mind conveys, 
Than he, who, swollen with impetuous rage, 
Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage. 



60 



4. He who, in earnest, studies o'er his part, 
Will find true nature cling about his heart. 
The modes of grief are not included all 
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl ! 
A single look more marks the internal woe, 
Than all the windings of the lengthened Oh ! 
Up to the face the quick sensation flies, 
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes : 
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, 
And all the passions, all the soul is there. 



Every student should carefully analyze that epitome of 
instruction, "HAMLET'S INSTRUCTION TO THE 
PLAYERS." He will be delighted to notice that the 
" Great Artist " has presented in a single page a concise 
summary of invaluable suggestions. 

hamlet's instruction to the players. 
Speak the speech, I pray you,' as I pronounced it to you ; ' trippingly on 
the tongue ; s but if you mouth it, as many of our players do/ I had as lief 
the town-m'er spake my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your 
hand thus, but use all gently ; x for in the very torrent, tempest, and, (as I 
may say,) whirlwind of your passion/ you must acquire and beget a 
temperance, that may give it smoothness? 0, it offends me to the soul, to 
hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 
rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; * who, for the most part, are 
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and noise. Pray you, 
avoid it. Be not too tame neither/ but let your own discretion be your 
tutor. Suit the action to the word; ' the word to the action : v with this 
special observance : N that you overstep not the modesty of nature; v for any 
thing so OYQx-done is from the purpose of playing ; x whose end, both at 
the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature ; 
to show virtue her own feature ; x scom her own image ; v and the very 
age and body of the time/ his form and pressure. Now this, overdone or 
come tardy off/ though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the 
judicious grieve ; s the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, 
o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. 0, there be players, that I have seen 
play, and heard others praise, and that highly, (not to speak it profanely,) 
that, neither having the accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, 
pagan, or man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some 
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well : x they 
imitated humanitv so abominably. 



Selections 



I.— RICHTER'S DREAM. 

1. Into the great vestibule of heaven, God called up a 
man from dreams, saying, " Come thou hither, and see the 
glory of my house." And, to the servants that stood 
around His throne, He said, " Take him, and undress him 
from his robes of flesh : cleanse his vision, and put a new 
breath into his nostrils ; only touch not with any change 
his human heart — the heart that weeps and trembles." 

2. It was done ; and, with a mighty angel for his 
guide, the man stood ready for his infinite voyage ; and 
from the terraces of heaven, without sound or farewell, at 
once they wheeled away into endless space. Sometimes, 
with solemn flight of angel wings, they fled through 
Gaarahs of darkness — through wildernesses of death, that 
divided the world of life : sometimes they swept over 
frontiers that were quickening under the prophetic motions 
from God. 

3. Then, from a distance that is counted only in heaven, 
light dawned for a time through a sleepy film ; by unutter- 
able pace the light swept to them ; they by unutterable 
pace to the light. In a moment, the rushing of planets 
was upon them : in a moment, the blazing of suns was 
around them. 

4. Then came eternities of twilight, that revealed, but 
were not revealed. On the right hand and on the left, 
towered mighty constellations, that by self-repetition and 



G2 

answers from afar, that by counter-positions, built up tri- 
umphal gates, whose architraves — whose archways — hori- 
zontal, upright — rested, rose — at attitudes^ by spans — that 
seemed ghostly from infinitude. Without measure were 
the architraves, past number, were the archways, beyond 
memory the gates. 

5. Within were stairs that scaled the eternities below : 
above was below — below was above, to the man stripped 
of gravitating body : depth was swallowed up in height 
insurmountable : height was swallowed up in depth un- 
fathomable. Suddenly, as thus they rode from infinite to 
infinite : suddenly, as thus they tilted over abysmal worlds, 
a mighty cry arose,- that systems more mysterious, that 
worlds more billowy, other heights and other depths, were 
coming — were nearing — were at hand. 

C. Then the man sighed, and stopped, and shuddered, 
and wept. His overladen heart uttered itself in tears ; 
and he said, " Angel, I will go no farther ; for the spirit of 
man acheth with this infinity. Insufferable is the glory of 
God. Let me lie down in the grave, and hide me from the 
persecutions of the Infinite ; for end, I see, there is none." 

V. And from all the listening stars that shone around, 
issued a choral cry, "The man speaks truly : end there is 
none that ever yet we heard of." " End ! is there none ? " 
the angel solemnly demanded : " Is there indeed no end ! 
and is this the sorrow that kills you ? " But no voice 
answered that he might answer himself. Then the angel 
threw up his glorious hands toward the heaven of heavens, 
saying, " End, is there none to the universe of God ? Lo ! 
also there is no beginning." 



II.— DEATH-BED OF BENEDICT AENOLD. 

George Leppard. 
1. Fifty years ago, in a rude garret, near the loneliest 
suburbs of the city of London, lay a dying man. He 
was but half dressed ; though his legs were concealed in 



AND OEATOEY. 63 

long military boots. An aged minister stood beside the 
rough couch. The form was that of a strong man grown 
old through care more than age. There was a face that 
you might look upon but once, and yet wear it in your 
memory forever. 

2. Let us bend over the bed, and look upon that face. 
A bold forehead seamed by one deep wrinkle visible be- 
tween the brows — long locks of dark hair, sprinkled with 
gray ; lips firmly set, yet quivering, as though they had a 
life separate from the life of the man ; and then, two large 
eyes — vivid, burning, unnatural in their steady glare. Ay, 
there was something terrible in that face — something so 
full of unnaturable loneliness — unspeakable despair, that 
the aged minister started back in horror. But look ! those 
strong arms are clutching at the vacant air : the death- 
sweat stands in drops on that bold brow — the man is 
dying. Throb— throb — throb — beats the death-watch in 
the shattered wall. " Would you die in the faith of the 
Christian ? " faltered the preacher, as he knelt there on the 
damp floor. 

3. The white lips of the death-stricken man trembled, 
but made no sound. Then, with the strong agony of 
death upon him, he rose into a sitting posture. For the 
first time he spoke. " Christian ! " he echoed in that deep 
tone which thrilled the preacher to the heart : " Will that 
faith give me back my honor ? Come with me, old man, 
come with me, far over the waters. Ha ! we are there ! 
This is my native town. Yonder is the church in which I 
knelt in childhood : yonder the green on which I sported 
when a boy. But another flag waves yonder, in place of 
the flag that waved when I was a child. 

4. " And listen, old man, were I to pass along the 
streets, as I passed when but a child, the very babes in 
their cradles would raise their tiny hands, and curse me ! 
The graves in yonder churchyard would shrink from my 
footsteps ; and yonder flag would rain a baptism of blood 
upon my head ! " 



64: 



5. That was an awful death-bed. The minister had 
watched " the last night " with a hundred convicts in their 
cells, but had never beheld a scene so terrible as this. 
Suddenly the dying man arose : he tottered along the 
floor. With those white fingers, whose nails were blue 
with the death-chill, he threw open a valise. He drew 
from thence a faded coat of blue, faced with silver, and the 
wreck of a battle-flag. 

6. " Look ye, priest ! this faded coat is spotted with 
my blood ! " he cried, as old memories seemed stirring at 
his heart. " This coat I wore, when I first heard the news 
of Lexington : this coat I wore, when I planted the banner 
of the stars on Ticonderoga ! that bullet-hole was "pierced 
in the fight of Quebec ; and now, I am a — let me whisper 
it in your ear ! " He hissed that single burning word into 
the minister's ear.: " Now help me, priest ! help me to put 
on this coat of blue ; for you see " — and a ghastly smile 
came over his face — " there is no one here to wipe the 
cold drops from my brow : no wife : no child. I must 
meet Death alone ; but I will meet him, as I have met him 
in battle, without a fear ! " 

7. And, while he stood arraying his limbs in that 
worm-eaten coat of blue and silver, the good minister 
spoke to him of faith in Jesus. Yes, of that great faith, 
whicli pierces the clouds of human guilt, and rolls them 
back from the face of God. " Faith ! " echoed that strange 
man, who stood there, erect, with the death-chill on, his 
brow, " Faith ! Can it give me back my honor ? Look 
ye, priest ! there, over the waves, sits George Washington, 
telling to his comrades the pleasant story of the eight 
years' war : there, in his royal balls, sits George of Eng- 
land, bewailing, in his idiotic voice, the loss of his colo- 
nies ! And here am I ! — I, who was the first to raise the 
flag, of freedom, the first to strike a blow against that 
king — here am I, dying ! oh, dying like a dog ! " 

8. The awe-stricken preacher started back from the 
look of the dying man, 'while throb — throb — throb — beats 



AND OEATOEY. 65 

the death-watch, in the shattered wall. " Hush ! silence 
along the lines there ! " he muttered, in that wild, absent 
tone, as though speaking to the dead ; " silence along the 
lines ! not a word — not a word, on peril of your lives ! 
Hark you, Montgomery ! we will meet in the centre of 
the town : — we will meet there in victory, or die ! — Hist ! 
silence, my men — not a whisper, as we move up those 
steep rocks ! Now on, my boys — now on ! Men of the 
wilderness, we will gain the town ! Now up with the 
banner of the stars — up with the flag of freedom, though 
the night is dark, and the snoAV falls ! Now ! now, one 
more blow, and Quebec is ours ! " 

9. And look ! his eye grows glassy. With that word 
on his lips, he stands there — ah ! what a hideous picture 
of despair : erect, livid, ghastly : there for a moment, and 
then he falls ! — he is dead ! Ah, look at that proud form, 
thrown cold and stiff upon the damp floor. In that 
glassy eye there lingers, even yet, a horrible energy — a 
sublimity of despair. Who is this strange man lying 
there alone, in this rude garret : this man, who, in all his 
crimes, still treasured up in that blue uniform, that faded 
flag ? Who is this being of horrible remorse — this man, 
whose memories seem to link something with heaven, and 
more with hell ? 

10. Let us look at that parchment and flag. The aged 
minister unrolls that faded flag ; it is a blue banner gleam- 
ing with thirteen stars. He unrolls that parchment : it is 
a colonel's commission in the Continental army addressed 
to Benedict Aenold ! And there, in that rude hut, 
while -the death-watch throbbed like a heart in the shat- 
tered wall: there, unknown, unwept, in all the bitterness 
of desolation, lay the corse of the patriot and the traitor. 

11. Oh that our own true Washington had been there, 
to sever that good right arm from the corse ; and, while 
the dishonored body rotted into dust, to bring home that 
noble arm, and embalm it among the holiest memories of 
the past. For that right arm struck many a gallant blow 



66 wiley's elocution 

for freedom : yonder at Ticonderoga, at Quebec, Cham- 
plain, and Saratoga — that arm, yonder, beneath the snow 
white mountains, in the deep silence of the river of the 
dead, first raised into light the Banner of the Stars. 



III.— WHAT THE SEA SAID TO ME. 

1. By the sandy sea-shore strolling, 
List'ning to the surges rolling, 
And their never ceasing bowling, 

'Mong the rocks. 

Surely, 'tis no idle notion, 
That the sparkling, seething ocean, 
With its rhythmic, breathing motion, 
With me talks. 

2. " Ocean, with thy locks so hoary, 
Thou must have a wondrous story, 
Tale of ancient love or glory, 

Laid in store." 

Softly said the sea as sighing, 
With a lover's voice replying, 
Made by wavelets ever dying 
On the shore. 

3. " Sad and lonely once I wandered 
Round a shoreless world and pondered, 
Wondering wherefore power was squandered, 

Making me. 

Now, since heaven has kindly fated 
I like Adam should be mated, 
Why I wandering, wondering waited, 
Now I see. 

4. I've a sweetheart, I'm a lover, 
In my arms I clasp her ever, 
Nothing ever shall us sever, 

Sea and land. 

Now I know what heavenly bliss is, 
While I feel such love as this is, 



AND ORATORY. 67 

Brimming o'er in ceaseless kisses, 
On the strand. 

5. Robe of green on forest bowers, 
Covering prairies decked with flowers, 
Woven in my loom of showers, 

I present. 

Fruits of spring and summer's growing, 
Autumn's garners overflowing, 
These are gifts of my bestowing, 
Yearly sent. 

6. Clouds that round the mountains hover, 
Snow-caps that their bald heads cover, 
Fountains cool I give that ever 

Bubbling flow. 

Fairest gifts of earthly blessing, 
Ever fondest love confessing, 
Yet that love not half expressing, 
I bestow." 



IY.— RIGHT TRIUMPHANT. 



Shakspeare. 



Know'st thou not, 
That when the searching eye of heaven is hid 
Behind the globe, and lights the lower world, 
Then thieves and robbers range abroad unseen, 
In murders, and in outrage, bloody here ; 
But when, from under this terrestrial ball, 
He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines, 
And darts his light through every guilty hole, 
Then murders, treasons, and detested sins, 
The cloak of night being pluck'd from off their backs 
Stand bare and naked, trembling at themselves ? 

So when this thief, this traitor, Bolingbroke, — 
"Who all this while hath revell'd in the night, 
Whilst we were wandering with the antipodes, — 
Shall see us rising in our throne the east, 
His treasons will sit blushing in his face 
Not able to endure the sight of day, 
But, self-affrighted, trembling at his sin. 



08 



Not all the water in the rough rude sea 

Can wash the balm from an anointed king : 

The breath of worldly men cannot depose 

The deputy elected by the Lord : 

For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, 

To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 

God for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 

A glorious angel : then, if angels fight, 

Weak men must fall ; for heaven still guards the right. 



V.— SEEING THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT. 

1. In July, 18G5, Hon. J. II. Campbell, "United States 
Minister to Norway, with a party of American gentlemen, 
went far enough north to see the sun at midnight. It was 
in 69 degrees north latitude, and they ascended a cliff 
1,000 feet high above the Arctic sea. 

2. The scene is thus described : " It was late, but still 
sunlight. The Arctic ocean stretched away in silent vast- 
ness at our feet ; the sound of its waves scarcely reached 
our airy lookout ; away in the north the huge old sun 
swung low along the horizon like a slow beat of the pen- 
dulum in the tall clock in our grandfather's parlor corner. 
We all stood silent looking at our watches. "When both 
hands came together at 12, midnight, the full, round orb 
hung triumphantly above the wave : a bridge of gold run- 
ning due north spangled the waters between us and him. 

3. There he shone in silent majesty which knew no 
setting. "We involuntarily took off our hats — no word 
was spoken. Combine, if you can, the most brilliant sunset 
and sunrise you ever saw, and its beauties will pale before 
the gorgeous coloring which now lit up the ocean, heaven 
and mountain. In half an hour the sun had swung up 
perceptibly on its beat, the colors changed to those of 
morning, a fresh breeze rippled over the florid sea, one 
songster after another piped up in the grove behind us — 
we had slid into another dav." 



AND ORATOBY. 69 



YL— THE BLUE ANT) THE GRAY. 

[The women of Columbus, Mississippi, animated by noble sentiments, 
have shown themselves impartial in their offerings made to the memory 
of the dead. They strewed flowers alike- on the graves of the Confederate 
and of the National soldiers.] 

1. By the flow of the island river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
Where the blades of the grave-grass qtiiver, 
Asleep on the ranks of the dead : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the one, the Blue, 
Under the other, the Gray. 

2. These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 
All with the battle blood gory, 
In the dusk of eternity meet : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the laurel, the Blue, 
Under the willow, the Gray. 

3. From the silence of sorrowful hours 

The desolate mourners go, 
Lovingly laden with flowers 

Alike for the friend and the foe : — 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Under the roses, the Blue, 
Under the lilies, -the Gray. 

4. So with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 
With a touch impartially tender, 
On the blossoms blooming for all : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; — 
Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

5. So, when the Summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 



70 



With an equal murmur falleth 
The cooling drip of the rain : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Wet with the rain, the Blue, 
Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 
In the storm of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won : 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Under the blossoms, the Blue, 
Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war-cry sever, 
Or the winding rivers be red ; 
They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Love and tears for the Blue, 
Tears and love for the Gray. 



YIL— TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE. 

Wendell Phillips. 

[Toussaint L'Ouverture, who has been pronounced one of the greatest 
statesmen and generals of the nineteenth century, saved his master and 
family by hurrying them on board a vessel at the insurrection of the 
negroes of Hayti. He then joined the negro army, and soon found him- 
self at their head. Napoleon sent a fleet with French veterans, with 
orders to bring him to France at all hazards. But all the skill of the 
French soldiers could not subdue the negro army ; and they finally made 
a treaty, placing Toussaint L'Ouverture governor of the island. The 
negroes no sooner disbanded their army, than a squad of soldiers seized 
Toussaint by night, and taking him on board a vessel, hurried him to 
France. There he was placed in a dungeon, and finally starved to death.] 

1. If I stood here to-night to tell the story of Napo- 
leon, I should take it from the lips of Frenchmen, who 
find no language rich enough to paint the great general of 
the century. If I were to tell you the story of Washing- 
ton, I should take it from your hearts— you who think no 



AND ORATORY. 71 

marble white enough, in which to carve the name of the 
Father of his Country. 

2. But I am to tell you the story of a negro, Toussaint 
L'Ouverture, who has left hardly one written line. I am 
to glean it from the reluctant testimony of his enemies, 
men who despised him because he was a negro and a slave, 
hated him because he had beaten them in battle. You 
remember that Macauly says, comparing Cromwell with 
Napoleon, that Cromwell showed greater military genius 
on this account, he never saw an army till he was forty : 
Napoleon from a boy was educated in the best military 
schools of Europe. 

3. Cromwell manufactured his army. Napoleon at 
nineteen was placed at the head of the best troops Europe 
ever saw. They both conquered, but, says Macauly, with 
such disadvantages, the Englishman showed the greater 
genius. Whether you allow the result or not, you will at 
least allow that that is a fair mode of measurement. 

4. Now apply it to Toussaint. Cromwell never saw 
an army till he was forty : this man never saw a soldier till 
he was fifty. Cromwell manufactured his army — out of 
what ? Englishmen— the best blood of Europe. With it 
he conquered what ? Englishmen — their equals. 

5. This man manufactured his army out of what ? Out 
of what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, 
demoralized, by two hundred years of slavery. Yet out 
of this mixed, and as you say despicable mass, he forged a 
thunderbolt and hurled it — at what ? At the proudest 
blood in Europe — the Spaniard, and sent him home : at 
the most warlike blood in Europe — the Frenchman, and 
put him under his feet : at the pluckiest blood in Europe — 
the English, and they skulked home to Jamaica. Now if 
Cromwell was a general, at least, this man was a soldier. 
It is not by quantity, but by quality we measure genius. 

6. Cromwell was only a soldier : his fame stops there. 
Not one line, in the statute book of Britain, can be traced 
to him. The state he founded went down with him to his 



72 

grave. But this man no sooner found himself at the helm 
of state, than the ship steadied, with an upright keel, and 
began to evince a statesmanship as marvellous as his mili- 
tary genius. 

1. It was 1798, a time when religious intolerance poi- 
soned every page of England's statute book : when every 
state in the Union, save Rhode Island, was but another 
name for bigotry. This man remember was a negro, you 
say that is a superstitious blood. He was uneducated, 
you say that makes a man narrow minded. He was a 
Catholic ; many say that is but another name for intoler- 
ance. Yet, Negro, Catholic, Slave, he took his place be- 
side Roger Williams and said to his committee, " Make it 
the first line of my constitution, that I know no difference 
between religious beliefs." 

8. Now blue-eyed Saxon, proud of your race, go back 
with me sixty years ; select what statesman you please : 
let him be either American or Englishman, let him have a 
brain the result of six generations of culture, let him have 
the richest culture of university routine, crown his temples 
with the silver locks of seventy years, and show me the 
man of Saxon lineage, for whom his most sanguine admi- 
rers will wreathe a lam-el, rich as embittered foes, have 
jolaced on the brow of this negro. 

9. I would call him Napoleon ; but Napoleon made his 
way to empire over broken oaths, and through a sea of 
blood. This man never broke his word, and his last words 
uttered to his son in France were these, " My boy, you 
will some day go back to St. Domingo, forget that France 
murdered your father." I would call him Cromwell, but 
Cromwell was only a soldier, and the state he founded did 
go down with him to the grave. I would call him Wash- 
ington, but the great Virginian held slaves. 

10. You think me a fanatic to-night, for you read his- 
tory not with your eyes but with your prejudices. But 
fifty years hence when impartial history gets written, 
some Plutarch of later days will put Phocian for the 



AND ORATORY. 73 

Greek, Brutus for the Roman, Hampden for England, 
Fayette for France, choose Washington as the bright con- 
summate flower of our earlier civilization ; then, dipping 
his pencil in sunlight, will write in the clear blue above 
them all, the name of the soldier, the statesman, and the 
martyr, Toussaint L'Ouverture. 



Tin.— THE DRUNKARD'S DAUGHTER. 

[We cannot find words to express our emotions when we first read the 
following touching verses. They stir the soul to its very depths, and we 
defy a man of feeling to read tbem with a tearless eye. A young lady, 
whose life had been made wretched by the drunkenness of her father, is 
the author ; and none but one who has " walked woe's depths," could 
write such a powerful piece. She wrote and sent it to a friend, who had 
told her that she was a " monomaniac," in bitter hatred of the " deadly 
cup." — St. Louis Press.] 

1. Go, feel what I have felt, 

Go, bear what I have borne ; 
Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt, 

And the cold proud world's scorn ; 
Thus struggle on from year to year, 
Thy sole relief the tear. 

2. Go, weep as I have wept, 

O'er a loved father's fall, 
See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth's sweetness turned to gall ; 
Hope's faded flowers strewn all the way, 
That led me up to woman's day. 

3. Go, kneel as I have knelt, 

Implore, beseech and pray, 
Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay : 
Be cast, with bitter tears, aside, 
Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 

4. Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow, 
With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood, 

And cold the livid brow ; 
Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirror'd, his soul's misery. 
4 



74 



5. Go, hear what I have heard, 

The sobs of sad despair, 
As memory's feeling fount hath stirr'd 

And its revealing there 
Have told him what he might have been 
Had he the drunkard's fate foreseen. 

6. Go, to my mother's side, 

And her crushed spirit cheer, 
Thine own deep anguish hide, 

Wipe from her cheek the tear : 
Mark her dimm'd eye, her furrow'd brow, 
The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
Her toil-worn frame, her trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith in early youth 
Promised eternal love and truth : 

7. But who, foresworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup, 
And led down from love and light, 
From all that made her pathway bright, 
And chained her there, 'mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing, a Drunkard's Wife, 

And stamp'd on childhood's brow so mild, 
That withering blight, a Drunkard's Child. 

8. Go,, hear, and see, and feel, and know 

All that my soul hath felt and known : 
Then look upon the wine cup's glow, 

See if its brightness can atone. 
Think if its flavor you will try, 
If all proclaimed — " 'Tis drink and die ! " 

9. Tell me I hate the bowl ! 

Hate is a feeble word — 
I loathe, abhor — my very soul 

With strong disgust is stirr'd 
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell 
Of that dark beverage of hell ! 



IX.— YIKGIL'S HADES. Literal Translation. 

Wiley. 
1. At length th' accursed gates are open'd, grating on their horrid 
Sounding hinges. " Yonder seost thou what figure guards the 



AND OEATORY. 75 

Passage ? and what the gate ? A dreadful Hydra there, with fifty- 
Black and gaping mouths, more terrible, by far, than any 
Fury, holds her seat within. Then Tartarus itself, in 
Course toward the Shades, sinks down as far as twice the distance, 
Measured by the eye, from earth to heaven. 

2. " Here the ancient 

Progeny of Earth, th' Titanian youth, by thunderbolts hurled 
Down, lie welt'ring in the abyss. Here too, I saw the sons of 
Alcens, gigantic forms, who sought to rend the heavens, 
Hurling from his lofty throne immortal Jove. And here I 
Saw Salmoneus in torture suffering, for having 
Dared to imitate the light'nings and the bolts of Jove. 
Drawn by horses, in his chariot, proud, and brandishing a torch, he 
Eode through Greece triumphant and the midst, of Elis ; and the 
Honor of th' Immortals boasting claimed : foolish mortal ! 
Who, with brazen car and tramp o' his horn-hoofed steeds, the rushing 
Storms and dreadful roaring thunder sought to imitate. 
- But th' almighty Sire hurled an awful bolt, (not harmless 

Firebrands he, nor torches' smoky light,) and cast him headlong 
To the Shades, amid a roaring whirlwind. ' 

3. " Tityus too, you 
Might have seen, the foster-child of all-producing Earth : 
Whose awful body reaehes over nine unbroken acres ; 
And a vulture, monstrous bird, with hooked beak, is ever 
Feasting on his entrails ; nor is any respite given, 

But the fibres ever springing up afresh creates new 
Food for punishment. Why need I mention Sirithous the 
Lapithse, and Ixion above whom threat'ning hangs a 
Black and flinty rock, that ev'ry moment swinging round seems 
Falling ? Golden standards unto lofty couche3 glisten ; 
And in view are banquets furnished out with regal splendor : 
Near them, thund'ring with her voice and brandishing her torch on 
High, the eldest of the Furies sits and guards the banquets. 

4."Here, too, are those who with their brothers lived at enmity : had 
Treated ill a parent ; or had wrought deceit against a 
Client ; or the miserly, who brooded o'er acquired 
Wealth alone, nor sought division with their kindred ; these by 
Far most numerous ; and those who for adultery were 
Slain ; and who in impious wars had joined, and hesitated 
Not to violate their plighted faith to lawful masters : 
There in prison 'wait their punishment. Nor kind, nor shape, nor 
In what state the punishment, they seek to be informed. 



76 



5. "Others heave up rolling stones, and hang fast bound to wheels. There 
Sits, and shall forever sit, unhappy Theseus. And 
Phlegyas, wretchedest, admonishes ; and with a solemn 
Voice proclaims throughout the Shades, ' Warn'd seek righteousness, 

and 
Not contemn the gods.' Another sold for gold his country : 
Raising into rule a domineering tyrant : made and 
Unmade laws for gold. And one attempted marriage rites 
Unlawful with his daughter. All have dared some heinous crime and 
'Complished what they dared. Had I a hundred tongues, a hundred 
Mouths, and voice of sounding iron, I could not comprehend the 
Species of their crimes, nor numerate their punishments." 



X.— THE BEAUTIFUL LAND. 

1. There's a beautiful land by the spoiler untrod, 

Unclouded by sorrow or care ; 
It is lighted alone by the presence of God, 

Whose throne and whose temple are there ; 
Its crystalline streams with a murmurous flow, 

Meander through valleys of green, 
And Its mountains of jasper are bright in the glow 

Of a splendor no mortal hath seen. 

2. And throngs of glad singers with jubilant breath 

Make the air with their melodies rife ; 
And one known on earth as the angel of death, 

Shines here as an angel of life ! 
And infinite tenderness beams from his eyes, 

On his brow is a heavenly calm, 
And his voice as it thrills thro' the depths of the skies 

Is as sweet as the seraphim's psalm. 

3. Through the musical groves of this beautiful land 

Walk the souls which were faithful in this, 
And their foreheads by the breath of the zephyrs are fanned 

That evermore murmur of bliss ; 
They taste the rich fruitage that hangs from the trees 

And breathe the sweet odor of flowers 
More fragrant than ever were kissed by the breeze 

In Araby's loveliest bowers. 

4. Old prophets, whose words were a spirit of flame 

Blazing out o'er the darkness of time, 



AND ORATORY. 77 

And martyrs, whose courage no torture could tame, 

Nor turn from their purpose sublime ; 
And saints and confessors, a numberless throng, 

Who were loyal to truth and to right, 
And left as they walked thro' the darkness of wrong 

Their foot-prints encircled with light. 

And the dear little children who went to their rest 

Ere their lives had been sullied by sin, 
While the angel of morning still tarried a guest, 

Their spirit's pure temple within — 
All are there, all are there — in the beautiful land, 

The land by the spoiler untrod, 
And their foreheads by the breath of the breezes are fanned 

That blow from the gardens of God. 

My soul hath looked in thro' the gateway of dreams 

On the city all paved with pure gold, 
And heard the sweet flow of its murmurous streams, 

As through the green valleys they rolled : 
And though it still waits on this desolate strand 

A pilgrim and stranger on earth, 
Yet it knew, in that glimpse of the beautiful land, 

That it gazed on the home of its birth. 



XI. — PROSE SELECTIONS. 
1. — Growing Old. 

1. How stealthily the years creep upon us, one by one, 
until some day we are startled to find ourselves grown 
old ! It is curious to see what different estimates people 
put upon old age at different periods of their own lives. 
To the youth in his teens, the man of middle age appears 
quite antiquated, but when he himself arrives at forty 
years, he can scarce believe he is no longer young, and is 
astonished to see so many who were but infants the other 
day now jostling him as full grown men in the race of life. 
Said one gentleman to another once in our hearing, 
" What has become of all the old men ? When you and I 
were boys there were many old gentlemen about, but they 



78 



seem to be all gone ? " " Ah," said his friend with a 
smile, " ask these youngsters where the old men are. 
They'll tell you — and you will find yourself among them ! " 

2. — Memory. 

1. Memories of some kind we all have — it is the one 
thing which makes the man himself. If it be true that 
every particle of our bodies is changed once in seven 
years, memory is the surest guardian of personal identity. 
Cicero, after long thinking about it concluded that it w r as 
the strongest proof that the soul was immaterial and im- 
moral. Destroy it, and the chief value of life would be 
taken away. What w r ould an existence be worth that had 
not, could never have, any yesterday — to which came no 
tender whispers from the morning land of youth, no words 
whose very echo thrills steady-going old age with indefina- 
ble bliss ? To forget is indeed to be annihilated. 

3. — Facts worth Knowing. 

1. It is not what people eat, but what they digest, that 
makes them strong. It is not what they gain, but what 
they save, that makes theni rich. It is not what they 
read, but what they remember, that makes them learned. 
It is not what they profess, but what they practice, that 
makes them good. 

4. — A Nobleman and His Jestee. 

1. There was a certain lord who kept a jester in his 
house, (as many great men did in olden days of their 
pleasure,) to whom the lord gave a staff, and charged him 
to keep it till lie should meet with one who was a greater 
fool than himself, and if he should meet with such a one, 
to deliver it over to him. 

Not many years after, his lord fell sick, and, indeed 
was sick unto death. The jester came to see him, and was 
told by his sick lord that he must now shortly leave him. 



AND OKATOKY. 79 

" And whither wilt thou go ? " said the jester. 

" Into another world," said the lord. 

" And when wilt thou come again ? within a month ? " 

« No." 

" Within a year ? " 

" No." 

" When, then ? " 

" Never." 

" Never ! and what provision hast thou made for thy 
entertainment whither thou goest ? " 

" None at all." 

" No ! " said, the jester. " None at all ? Here, take 
thy staff, then. Art thou going away forever ? Hast 
thou made no preparation for a journey from which thou 
shalt never return ? Take my staff then, for I will not be 
guilty of such folly as this." 

5. — Gkeatness. 

1. Only moral greatness is truly sublime. The gladia- 
tor may discipline his sinews, and almost compete in 
strength even with his maddened adversary. And there 
are modern as well as ancient names, which awaken pity, 
if not contempt, for their owners, on account of the fear- 
ful perversion of their splendid talents. But when we 
read or hear of Howard, the illustrious philanthropist, the 
soul — debased as it may be — bends with instinctive hom- 
age, and feels as if a ray from his beatified spirit illumed 
and purified its purposes. 

2. While Napoleon, like the fabled genii, traversed 
the affrighted earth, marked his footsteps with human 
blood, our own Washington rose like another luminary 
upon the dark and troubled scene of American politics, 
and with no marvelous intellectual ability, — but in the 
tranquil might of moral majesty, — he pursued the narrow 
path of duty, and blenched neither to the power of ene- 
mies, nor to the influence of affection. He had no noon- 
day brightness, — no declining splendor. His whole course 



80 WILEY S ELOCUTION 

was light and glory ; and he left a heavenly and perennial 
brilliancy on the national horizon. 

6. — Life. 

1. Life bears us on, like the current of a mighty river. 
Our boat, at first, glides down the narrow channel, through 
the playful murmurings of the little brook, and the wind- 
ings of its happy border. The trees shed their blossoms 
over our young heads ; the flowers on the brink seem to 
offer themselves to our hands ; we are happy in hope, and 
we grasp eagerly at the beauties around us ; but the 
stream hurries us on, and still our hands are empty. 

2. Our course in youth and manhood is along a wider 
and deeper flood, and amid objects more striking and 
magnificent. We are animated by the moving picture of 
enjoyment and industry, which passes before us : we are 
excited by some short-lived success, or depressed and made 
miserable by some equally short-lived disappointment. 
But our energy and our dependence are both in vain. 
The stream bears us on, and our joys and our griefs are 
alike left behind us ; we may be shipwrecked, but we can- 
not anchor ; our voyage may be hastened, but it cannot be 
delayed ; whether rough or smooth, the river hastens 
toward its home, till the roaring of the ocean is in our 
ears, and the tossing of the waves is beneath our heel, and 
the land lessens from our eyes, and the floods are lifted up 
around us, and we take our last leave of the earth, and its 
inhabitants ; and of our further voyage there is no witness 
but the Infinite and Eternal. 

7. — Vulgar Words. 

1. There is as much connection between the words 
and the thoughts, as there is between the thoughts and the 
words ; the latter are not only the expression of the 
former, but they have power to react upon the soul and 
leave the stain of corruption there. 

2. A young man who allows himself to use profane 



AND ORATORY. 81 

and vulgar words, has not only shown that there is a foul 
spot on his mind, but by the utterance of that word he 
extends that spot and inflames it, till by indulgence it will 
soon pollute and ruin the whole soul. 

3. Be careful of your words, as well as of your thoughts. 
If you can control the tongue, that no improper words 
be pronounced by it, you will soon be able to control the 
mind and save it from corruption. You extinguish the 
fire by smothering it, or prevent bad thoughts bursting 
out in language. Never utter a word, anywhere, which 
you would be ashamed to speak in the presence of the 
most religious man. Try this practice a little, and you 
will soon have command of yourself. 



XII.— CATILINE TO HIS ARMY, NEAR F^ESUL^E. 

Ben Jonson. 

1. I never yet knew, Soldiers, that in fight 
Words added virtue unto valiant men ; 

Or that a General's oration made 

An army fall or stand : but how much prowess, 

Habitual or natural, each man's breast 

Was owner of, so much in act it showed. 

Whom neither glory nor danger can excite, 

'Tis vain to attempt with speech. 

2. Two armies wait us, Soldiers ; one from Rome 
The other from the provinces of Gaul. 

The sword must now direct and cut our passage. 
I only, therefore, wish you, when you strike, 
To have your valors and your souls about you ; 
And think you carry in your laboring hands 
The things you seek,— glory and liberty ! 
For by your swords the Fates must be instructed ! 
If we can give the blow, all will be safe ; 
We shall not want provision, nor supplies ; 
The colonies and free towns will lie open ; 
Where, if we yield to fear, expect no place, 
Nor friend, to shelter those whom their own fortune 
And ill-used arms have left without protection. 
4* 



82 



You might have lived in servitude or exile, 
Or safe at Rome, depending on the great, 
But that you thought those things unfit for men ; 
And, in that thought, my friends, you then were valiant ; 
For no man ever yet changed peace for war 
But he that meant to conquer. Hold that purpose. 
Meet the opposing army in that spirit. 
There's more necessity you should be such, 
In fighting for yourselves, than they for others. 
He's base who trusts his feet, whose hands arc armed. 

Methinks I see Death and the Furies waiting 
What we will do, and all the Heaven at leisure 
For the great spectacle. Draw, then, your swords, 
And, should our destiny begrudge our virtue 
The honor of the day, let us take care 
To sell ourselves at such a price as may 
Undo the world to buy us ! 



XIIL— SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. 

E. Kellogg. 

1. It bad been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, 
returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace 
with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto 
unknown even in that luxurious city. The shouts of 
revelry had died away ; the roar of the lion had ceased ; 
the last loiterer had retired from the banquet ; and the 
lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. 

2. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, sil- 
vered the dew-drops on the corslet of the Roman sentinel, 
and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a wavy, 
tremulous light. ~No sound was heard, save the last sob 
of some retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth 
pebbles of the beach ; and then all was still as the breast 
when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses of the 
amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assembled ; their 
muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam 
upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their 



AND OKATOKY. S3 

brows; when Spartacus, starting forth from amid the 
throng, thus addressed them : 

3. " Ye call me chief ; and ye do well to call him chief 
who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every 
shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could 
furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be 
one among you who can say, that ever, in public fight or 
private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him 
stand forth, and say it. If there be three in all your com- 
pany dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. 
And yet I was not always thus, — a hired butcher, a savage 
chief of still more savage men ! 

4. "My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled 
among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. 
My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported ; 
and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, 
and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, 
the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led 
our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our 
rustic meal. 

5. " One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we 
were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cot- 
tage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon, 
and Leuctra ; and how, in ancient times, a little band of 
Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a 
whole army. I did not then know what war was ; but my 
cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the knees 
of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair 
from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and 
bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales 
and savage wars. That very night, the Romans landed on 
our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me tram- 
pled by the hoof of the war-horse ; the bleeding body of 
my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwell- 
ing ! 

6. " To-day I killed a man in the arena ; and, when I 
broke his helmet-clasps, behold ! he was my friend. He 



84 wiley's elocution 

knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died ; — the same 
sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in 
adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the 
first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph. 
I told the prsetor that the dead man had been my friend, 
generous and brave ; and I begged that I might bear away 
the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and mourn over its 
ashes. Ay ! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of 
the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assem- 
bled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call 
Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it 
rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn 
pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! 
And the praetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly 
said, — ' Let the carrion rot ; there are no noble men but 
Romans ! ' And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so 
must I, die like dogs. 

1. "O, Rome ! Rome ! thou hast been a tender nurse to 
me. Ay ! thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid 
shepherd-lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute- 
note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint ; taught him to 
drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged 
brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe ; — to gaze into 
the glaring eye-balls of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a 
boy upon a laughing girl ! And he shall pay thee back, 
until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its 
deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! 

8. " Ye staud here now like giants, as ye are ! The 
strength of brass is in your toughened sinews ; but to- 
morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume 
from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red 
brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! 
hear ye yon lion roaring in his den ? 'Tis three days since 
he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast 
upon yours, — and a dainty meal for him ye will be ! 

9. "If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, wait- 
ing for the butcher's knife ! If ye are men, — follow me ! 



AND ORATORY. 85 

Strike down yon guard, gam the mountain passes, and 
there do bloody work, as did your sires at Old Ther- 
mopylae ! Is Sparta dead ? Is the old Grecian spirit 
frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a 
belabored hound beneath his master's lash. 0, comrades ! 
warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for 
ourselves. If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our 
oppressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, 
by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle ! " 



XIV.— WOLSEY'S FALL. 

Shakspeare. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 
This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost — a killing frost ; 
And when he thinks, good easy man ! full surely 
His greatness is a ripening — nips the root, 
And then he falls, as I do. 

I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory, 
But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me, and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. 

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! 
I feel my heart new opened ; oh ! how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin, 
More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 
Never to hope again. 



1 



86 



XV.— THE RUM MANIAC. 

1. " Say, Doctor, may I not have rum, 
To quench this burning thirst within ? 
Here on this cursed bed I lie, 

And cannot get one drop of gin. 
I ask not health, nor even life — 
Life ! what a curse it's been to me ! 
I'd rather sink in deepest hell, 
Than drink again its misery. 

2. " But, Doctor, may I not have rum ? 
One drop alone is all I crave : 

Grant this small boon — I ask no more — 
Then I'll defy — yes, e'en the grave ; 
Then, without fear, I'll fold my arms, 
And bid the monster strike his dart, 
To haste me from this world of woe, 
And claim his own — this ruined heart. 

3. " A thousand curses on his head 
Who gave me first the poisoned bowl, 
Who taught me first this bane to drink — 
Drink — death and ruin to my soul. 

My soul ! oh cruel, horrid thought ! 
Full well I know thy certain fate ; 
With what instinctive horror shrinks 
The spirit from that awful state ! 

4. " Lost — lost — I know forever lost ! 
To me no ray of hope con come : 

My fate is se o aled ; my doom is 

But give me rum ; I will have rum. 
But, Doctor, don't you see him there ? 
In that dark corner low he sits ; 

See ! how he sports his fiery tongue, 
And at me burning brimstone spits ! 

5. " Say, don't you see this demon fierce ? 
Does no one hear ? will no one come ? 
Oh save me — save me — I will give — 
But rum ! I must have — will have rum ! 
Ah ! now he's gone ; once more I'm free ; 
He — the boasting knave and liar — 

He said that he would take me off 

Down to But there ! my bed's on fire 



Allison. 



AND OKATORY. 87 

6. " Fire ! water ! help ! come, haste — I'll die ; 
Come, take me from this burning bed : 

The smoke — I'm choking — cannot cry ; 

There now — it's catching at my head ! 

But see ! again that demon's come ; 

Look ! there he peeps through yonder crack ; 

Mark how his burning eyeballs flash ! 

How fierce he grins ! what brought him back ? 

7. There stands his burning coach of fire ; 
He smiles and beckons me to come — 
What are those words he's written there ? 
' In hell, we never want for rum ! '" 

One loud, one piercing shriek was heard ; 
One yell rang out upon the air ; 
One sound, and one alone, came forth — 
The victim's cry of wild despair. 

8. " Why longer wait ? I'm ripe for hell ; 
A spirit's sent to bear me down : 

There, in the regions of the lost, 
I sure will wear a fiery crown. 
Damned, I know, without a hope ! — 
One moment more, and then I'll come ! — 
And there I'll quench my awful thirst 
With boiling, burning, fiery rum ! " 



XVI— WHAT MAKES A HERO? 

Henry Tatlok. 

1. What makes" a hero ? — not success, not fame, 
Inebriate merchants, and the loud acclaim 

Of glutted Avarice, — caps tossed up in air, 

Or pen of journalist with flourish fair ; 
Bell pealed, stars, ribbons, and a titular name — 

These, though his rightful tribute, he can spare ; 
His rightful tribute, not his end or aim, 

Or true reward ; for never yet did these 

Refresh the soul, or set the heart at ease. 
What makes a hero ? — An heroic mind, 
Expressed in action, in endurance proved. 

2. And if there be preeminence of right 
Derived through pain well suffered, to the height 



88 



Of rank heroic, 'tis to bear unmoved, 
Not toil, not risk, not rage of sea or wind, 
Not the brute fury of barbarians blind, 

But worse — ingratitude and poisonous darts, 
Launched by the country he has served and loved ; 
This, with a free, unclouded spirit pure, 
This, in the strength of silence to endure, 
A dignity to noble deeds imparts, 
Beyond the gauds and trappings of renown ; 
This is the hero's complement and crown ; 
This missed, one struggle had been wanting still, — 
One glorious triumph of the heroic will, 
One self-approval in his heart of hearts. 



XVII— THE TRUE KING. Translated from Seneca. 

Leigh Hunt. 

1. 'Tis not wealth that makes a King, 
Nor the purple coloring ; 

Nor a brow that's bound with gold, 
Nor gate on mighty hinges rolled. 
The King is he, who, void of fear, 
Looks abroad with bosom clear ; 
Who can tread ambition down, 
Nor be swayed by smile or frown ; 

2. Nor for all the treasure cares, 

That mine conceals, or harvest wears, 

Or that golden sands deliver, . 

Bosomed in a glassy river. 

What shall move his placid might ? 

Not the headlong thunder-light, 

Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, 

With onward lance, or fiery blade. 

3. Safe, with wisdom for his crown 

He looks on all things calmly down ; 
He welcomes Fate, when Fate is near 
Nor taints his dying breath with fear. 
No — to fear not earthly thing, 
This it is that makes the King ; 
And all of us, whoe'er we be 
May carve us out that royalty. 



AND OKATORY. 89 



XVIII.— BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF LUCRETIA. 

Payne. 

1. Thus, thus, my friends ! fast as our breaking hearts 
Permitted utterance, we have told our story : 

And now, to say one word of the imposture — 
The mask necessity has made me wear. 
When the ferocious malice of your king — 
King ! do I call him ? — when the monster, Taiquin, 
Slew, as most of you may well remember, 
My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, 
Envying at once their virtues and their wealth, 
How could I hope a shelter from his power, 
But in the false face I have worn so long ? 

2. Would you know why I summoned you together ? 
Ask ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, 
Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! 

See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! 
She was the mark and model of the time, 
The mold in which each female face was formed, 
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! 

3. The worthiest of the worthy ! not the nymph 
Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks, 
And whispered in his ear her strains divine, 
Can I conceive beyond her ! — the young choir 
Of vestal virgins bent to her ! — Such a mind, 
Might have abashed the boldest libertine, 

And turned desire to reverential love 
And holiest affection ! 

4. Oh my countrymen ! 

You all can witness when that she went forth 

It was a holiday in Rome : old age 

Forgot its crutch ; labor its task ! all ran ; 

And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried 

" There, there's Lucretia ! " — Now look ye where she lies, 

That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, 

Torn up by ruthless violence — gone ! gone ! 

5. Say — would you seek instructions ! would you seek 
What ye should do ? — Ask ye yon conscious walls 
Which saw his poisoned brother, saw the crime 
Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge ! — 



90 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple 
With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! 
Go to the tomb where lie his murdered wife, 
And the poor queen who loved him as her son, 
Their unappeascd ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! 
♦ The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heaven, — 

The gods themselves — will justify the cry, 
And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Revenge ! 



XIX.— RICHARD II. ON THE VANITY OF TOWER. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 

1. Of comfort no man speak : 

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; 
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes 
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 
Let's choose executors and talk of wills : 
And yet not so — for what can we bequeath, 
Save our depos-ed bodies to the ground ? 
Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbroke's, 
And nothing can we call our own, but death, 
And that small model of our barren earth, 
Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 

2. For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, 
And tell sad stories of the death of kings— , 
How some have been deposed, some slain in war ; 
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; 
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed ; 
All murdered — for within the hollow crown, 

That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 

Keeps death his court, and there the antic sits, 

Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp ; 

Allowing him a breath, a little scene 

To monarchize, be feared and killed with looks ; 

Infusing him with self and vain conceit — 

As if this flesh which walls about our life,' 

Were brass impregnable : and humored thus, 

Comes at the last and with a little pin 

Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king ! 



AND ORATORY. 91 

XX.— THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. 

Knowles. 

1. A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Caesar's 
benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which 
he had entered into the civil war, observes, "How~long 
did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon?" How 
came he to the brink of that river ! How dared he cross 
it ! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private 
property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries 
of his country's rights ? How dared he cross that river ! 
Oh, but he paused upon the brink ! He should have per- 
ished upon the brink ere he had crossed it ! Why did he 
pause ? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on 
the point of committing an unlawful deed ? Why does 
the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his 
glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide 
of the mortal part ? Because of conscience ! 'Twas that 
made Csesar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. Com- 
passion ! What compassion ? The compassion of an 
assassin, that feels a momentary shudder as his weapon 
begins to cut ! 

2. Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! 
What was the Rubicon ? The boundary of Caesar's prov- 
ince. From what did it separate his province ? From his 
country. Was that country a desert ? ~No ; it was culti- 
vated and fertile, rich and populous ! Its sons were men 
of genius, spirit, and generosity ! Its daughters were 
lovely, susceptible, and chaste ! Friendship was its in- 
habitant ! Love was its inhabitant ! Domestic affection 
was its inhabitant ! Liberty was its inhabitant ! All 
boimded by the stream of the Rubicon ! What was 
Caesar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A 
traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that 
country. K"o wonder that he paused — no wonder if, his 
imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had be- 
held blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of 
murmurs ! JSTo wonder, if some gorgon horror had turned 



92 wiley's elocution 

him into stone upon the spot ! But, no ! — he cried, " The 
die is cast ! " He plunged ! — he crossed ! — and Rome was 
free no more ! 



XXL— THE UNION. 

Webster. 

1. I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept 
steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole 
country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is 
to that union, we owe our safety at home, and our 
consideration a:id dignity abroad. It is to that union, that 
we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud 
of our country. That union we reached only by the dis- 
cipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. 
It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, 
prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign 
influences, these great interests immediately awoke as from 
the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every 
year of its duration has teemed with fresh proof of its 
utility and its blessings ; and, although our territory has 
stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread 
further and further, they have not outrun its protection or 
its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of 
national, social, and personal happiness. 

2. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the 
union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess 
behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of pre- 
serving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together 
shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself 
to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, 
with my short sight, I can fathom the abyss below ; nor 
could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of the 
government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on 
considering, not how the union might best be preserved, 
but how tolerable might be the condition of the people, 
when it shall be broken up and destroyed. 



AND ORATORY. 93 

3. While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, grati- 
fying prospects spread out before us, for us and our chil- 
dren. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the veil. God 
grant, that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. 
God grant, that on my vision never may be opened what 
lies behind. When my eyes, shall be turned to behold, for 
the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining 
on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious 
union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; our 
land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fra- 
ternal blood ! 

4. Let my last feeble and lingering glance rather be- 
hold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and 
honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its 
arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a 
stripe erased or polluted, not a single star obscured, bear- 
ing, for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as, 

What is all this worth f nor those other words of delu- 
sion and folly, Liberty first, and union afterward / but 
everywhere, spread all over, in characters of living light, 
blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, 
and over the land, and on every wind, and under the whole 
heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American 
heart — Liberty and Union, now and forever ; one and 
inseparable ! 



XXII.— EXTRACT FROM THE LAST SPEECH OF ROBERT EMMET. 

1. I have been charged with that importance in the 
efforts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the 
key-stone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lord- 
ship expressed it, " The life and blood of the conspiracy." 
You do me honor over-much : you have given to the sub- 
altern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged 
in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to me, but 
even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord ; men, 



94: 

before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should 
bow with respectful deference, and who would think them- 
selves dishonored to be called your friend — who would not 
disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand. 

2. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to 
that scaffold, which that tyranny, of which you are only 
the intermediary executioner, has erected for my murder, 
that I am accountable for all the blood that has been, and 
will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the 
oppressor ? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very 
a slave as not to repel it ? I do not fear to approach the 
omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole 
life ; and am I to be appalled and falsified by a mere rem- 
nant of mortality here ? by you too, who, if it were 
possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have 
shed. in your unhallowed ministry, in one great reservoir, 
your lordship might swim in it. 

3. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me 
with dishonor ! let no man attaint my memory, by believ- 
ing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my 
country's liberty and independence ; or, that I could have 
become the j^liant minion of power, in the oppression, or 
the miseries, of my countrymen. The proclamation of the 
provisional government speaks forth our views ; no infer- 
ence can be tortured from it, to countenance barbarity, or 
debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treach- 
ery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign 
invader, for the same reason that I would resist the foreign 
and domestic oppressor ; in the dignity of freedom, I 
would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and 
its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless 
corpse. Am I, who have lived but for my country, and 
who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous 
and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, 
only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country 
her independence, and am I to be loaded with calumny, 
and not suffered to resent or repel it ? No, God forbid ! 



AND OBATO.RY. 95 

4. If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in 
the concerns and cares of those who are dear to them in 
this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of 
my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the 
conduct of your suifering son ; and see if I have even for 
a moment deviated from those principles of morality and 
patriotism, which it was your care to instill into my youth- 
ful mind ; and for which I am now to offer up my life. 
My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood 
which you seek, is not congealed by the artificial terrors 
which surround your victim ; it circulates warmly and un- 
ruffled, through the channels which God created for noble 
purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes 
so grievous, that they cry to heaven. 

5. Be yet patient ! I have but a few words more to 
say. I am going to my cold and silent grave : my lamp 
of life is nearly extinguished ; my race is run : the grave 
opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom ! I have 
but one request to ask at my departure from this world, — 
it is the charity of its silence ! Let no man write my 
epitaph : for, as no man, who knows my motives, dare 
now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse 
them. Let them, and me, repose in obscurity and peace, 
and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times, and 
other men, can do justice to my character : when my 
country takes her place among the nations of the earth, 
then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written. I have 
done. 



XXIII.— TELL ON HIS NATIVE HILLS. 

Knowles. 

Oh, with what pride I used 
To walk these hills, and look up to my God, 
And bless him that the land was free. 'T was free — 
From end to end, from cliff to lake ? t was free ! 
Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks, 
And plow our valleys, without asking leave ! 



96 wiley's elocution 

Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow 
In very presence of the regal sun ! 

2. How happy was it then ! I loved 
Its very storms. Yes, I have sat 

In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake, 
The stars went out, and down the mountain gorge 
The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed 
The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 
To see him shake his lightnings o'er my head, 
And think I had no master save his own ! 

3. On yonder jutting cliff* — o'ertaken there 

By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat along, 

And while gust followed gust more furiously, 

As if to sweep me o'er the horrid brink, 

And I have thought of other lands, whose storms 

Are summer-flaws to those of mine, and just 

Have wished me there — the thought that mine was free 

Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, 

And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 

Blow on ! — this is the land of liberty ! 



XXIV.— ONE YEAR AQO. 

1. What stars have faded from our sky ! 
What hopes unfolded but to die ! 
What dreams so fondly pondered o'er, 
Forever lost the hues they wore ? 
How like a death-knell, sad and slow, 
Tolls through the soul, " one year ago 

2. Where is the face we loved to greet, 
The form that graced the fireside seat, 
The gentle smile, the winning way, 
That blessed our life-path day by day ? 
Where fled those accents soft and low 
That thrilled our hearts " one year ago 

3. Ah, vacant is the fireside chair, 

The smile that won, no longer there ; 
From door and hall, from porch and lawn, 
The echo of the voice is gone, 
And we who linger, only know 
How much we lost, " one vear ago ! " 



t » 



AND OKATORY. 97 

4. Beside her grave the marble white 
Keeps silent guard by day and night. 
Serene she sleeps, nor heeds the tread 
Of footsteps o'er her lowly bed : 

Her pulseless breast no more may know 
The pangs of life, " one year ago ! " 

5. " But why repine ? " A few more years, 
A few more broken sighs and tears, 
And we, enlisted with the dead, 

Shall follow where her steps have fled, 

To that far world rejoicing go 

To which she passed " one year ago ! " 



XXV.— MACBETH TO THE DAGGER. 

Shakspeare. 
Is this a dagger which I see before me, 
The handle toward my hand ? Come, let me clutch thee — 
I have thee not ; and yet I see thee still. 
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
To feeling, as to sight ? or art thou but 
A dagger of the mind ? a false creation 
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain ? 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable 
As this which now I draw. 

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going ; 
And such an instrument I was to use. 
Mine eyes are made the fooJs o' the other senses, 
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still ; 
And on thy blade and dudgeon, gouts of blood, 
Which was not so before. There's no such,thing ! — : 
It is the bloody business, which informs 
Thus to mine eyes. 

Now o'er the one-half world, 
Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse 
The curtained sleep : now witchcraft celebrates 
Pale Hecate's offerings ; and "withered Murder, 
- — Alarumed by his sentinel, the wolf, 
Whose howl 's his watch — thus with his stealthy pace, 
Toward his design moves like a ghost. 

5 



98 wiley's elocution 

4. Thou sure and firm-set earth, 

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear 
Thy very stones prate of my whereabout ; 
And take the present horror from the time, 
Which now suits with it. Whiles I threat, he lives — 
Words to the heat of deeds too cold breath gives ; 
I go, and it is done ; the bell invites me. 
Hear it not, Duncan ; for it is a knell 
That summons thee to heaven, or to hell. 



XXVI.— THE INDIAN HUNTER. 

Eliza Cook. 

1. Oh ! why does the white man follow my path, 

Like the hound on the tiger's track ? 
Does the flush on my dark cheek waken his wrath, — 
Does he covet the bow at my back ? 

2. He has rivers and seas where the billows and breeze 

Bear riches for him alone ; 
And the sons of the wood never plunge in the flood, 
Which the white man calls his own. 

3. Then why should he come to the streams where none 

But the red man dares to swim ? 
Why, why should he wrong the hunter, — one 
Who never did harm to him ? 

4. The Father above thought fit to give 

The white man corn and wine ; 
There are golden fields where he may live, 
But the forest shades are mine. 

5. The Eagle hath its place of rest ; 

The wild horse, where to dwell ; 
And the spirit that gave the bird its nest, 
Made me a home as well. 

6. Then back ! go back from the red man's track ; 

For the hunter's eyes grow dim, 
To find that the white man wrongs the one 
Who never did harm to him. 



AND ORATORY. 99 



XXVII.— PRENTICE'S BEST POEM. 

[The following is the poem read by George D. Prentice of the Louis- 
ville Journal at the unvailing of the Clay statue — pronounced the best 
effort of his life by his admirers : ] 

1. Hail ! true and glorious semblance, hail ! 

Of him, the noblest of our race, 
"We seem, at lifting of thy vail, 

To see again his living face ! 
To hear the stirring words once more, 

That like the storm-god's cadence pealed 
With mightier power from shore to shore 

Than thunders of the battle-field. 

2. Lo ! that calm, high, majestic look, 

That blinds our gaze as by a spell, 
It is the same that erst-while shook 

The traitors on whose souls it fell ! 
Oh that he were again in life ! 

To wave, as once, his wand of power, 
And scatter far the storms of strife 

That o'er our country darkly lower. 

8. Again, again, and yet again 

He rolled back passion's roaring tide, 
"When the fierce souls of hostile men 

Each other's wildest wrath defied : 
Alas ! alas ! dark storms at length 

Sweep o'er our half-wrecked ship of state, 
And there seem none with will and strength 

To save her from her awful fate ! 

4. But thou, majestic image, thou 

Wilt in thy lofty place abide, 
And many a manly head will bow 

While gazing on a nation's pride ; 
And while his hallowed ashes lie 

Afar beneath old Ashland's sod, 
One gaze at thee should sanctify 

Our hearts to country and to God. 

5. We look on thee, we look on thee, 

Proud statue, glorious and sublime, 
And years as if by magic flee, 
And leave us in his grand old time ! 



100 



Oh, he was born to bless our race 

As ages after ages roll, 
We see the image of his face — 

Earth has no image of his soul ! 

6. Proud statue ! if the nation's life, 

For which ho toiled through all his years, 
Must vanish in our wicked strife 

And leave but groans, and blood, and tears : 
If all to anarchy be given, 

And ruin all our land assail, 
He'll turn away his eyes to heaven, 

And o'er thee we will cast thy vail. 



XXYIIL— THE UNSEEN BATTLE-FIELD. 

1. There is an unseen battle-field 

In every human breast, 
Where two opposing forces meet, 
But where they seldom rest. 

2. That field is vailed from mortal sight, 

'Tis only seen by One 
Who knows alone where victory lies, 
When each day's fight is done. 

3. One army clusters strong and fierce, 

Their chief of demon form ; 
His brow is like the thunder-cloud, 
His voice the bursting storm, 

4. His captains, Pride, and Lust, and Hate, 

Whose troops watch night and day, 
Swift to detect the weakest point, 
And thirsting for the fray. 

5. Contending with this mighty force 

Is but a little band ; 
Yet there, with an unquailing front, 
Those warriors firmly stand ! 

6. Their leader is a God-like form, 

Of countenance serene ; 
And glowing on his naked breast 
A simple cross is seen. 



AND OEATORY. 101 

7. His captains, Faith, and Hope, and Love, 

Point to that wondrous sign ; 
And, gazing on it, all receive 
Strength from a Source divine. 

8. They feel it speak a glorious truth, 

A truth as great as sure, 
That to be victors they must learn 
To love, confide, endure. 

9. That faith sublime in wildest strife 

Imparts a holy calm ; 
For every deadly blow a shield, 
For every wound a balm. 

10. And when they win that battle-field, 

Past toil is quite forgot ; 
The plain where carnage once had reigned, 
Becomes a hallowed spot : 

11. A spot where flowers of joy and peace 

Spring from the fertile sod, 
And breathe the perfume of their praise 
On every breeze — to God. 



XXIX.— WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE. 

Sir William Jones. 

1. What constitutes a state ? 

Not high-raised battlements, or labored mound, 

Thick wall, or moated gate : 
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned, 

Not bays and broad-armed ports, 
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride ; 

Not starred and spangled courts, 
Where low-born baseness wafts perfume to pride. 

2. -No ; men, high-minded men, 

With power as far above dull brutes indued, 

In forest, brake, or den, 
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude : 

Men who their duties know, 
But know their rights ; and knowing, dare maintain, 

Prevent the long-aimed blow, 
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain : 

These constitute a state ; 



102 



3. And sovereign law, that state's collected will, 
O'er thrones and globes elate, 

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill : 
Smit by her sacred frown, 

The fiend Discretion, like a vapor, sinks, 
And e'en the all-dazzling crown 

Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks. 



XXX.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 

1. — Eloquence of Silence. 

• Miss Mary A. Wiieaton. 

1. At midnight's hour, when o'er the sleeping world 
The white wings of the angels are unfurled, 
And the wild surging tides of life that rushed 
So restlessly through human hearts lie hushed ; 
When all the air is fragrant with the balm 
Of blossoms breathing sweet and holy calm, 
O'er the tired spirit, then there steal away 
Voices to us we never hear by day, 
Faint echoes from the world unseen that roll 
Through the dim, silent chambers of the soul. 

2. — True Refinement. 

Holland's Kathrina. 
1. One thing I learned : that she who thus had joined 
This cluster of disciples was not born 
And reared among their number ; that was plain. 
I saw it in her bearing and her dress ; 
In that unconsciousness of self that comes 
Of gentle breeding, and society 
Of gentle men and women ; in the ease 
With which she bore the awkward deference 
Of those that spoke with her adown the aisle ; 
In distant and admiring gaze of men, 
And the cold scrutiny of village girls 
Who passed for belles. 

3. FOEGIVE AND FOEGET. 

Charles Swain. 
Forgive and forget ! why, the world would be lonely, 
The garden a wilderness left to deform, 



AND ORATORY. 103 

If the flowers but remembered the chilling blast only, 
And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm. 

Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the flower, 

Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten life's way ; 

And prolong not again the brief cloud of an hour, 
With tears that but darken the rest of the day ! 

Forgive and forget ! there's no breast so unfeeling, 

But some gentle thoughts of affection there five ; 
And the best of us all require something concealing, 

Some heart that with smiles can forget and forgive. 
Then away with the clouds from those beautiful eyes, 

That brow was no home for such frowns to have met ; 
0, how could our spirits e'er hope for the skies, 

If Heaven refused — to forgive and forget ? 

4. — The Flight of a Single Soul. 

1. As the light leaf, whose fall to ruin bears 
Some trembling insect's little world of cares, 
Descends in silence, — while around waves on 
The mighty forest, reckless what is gone ! 
Such is man's doom, — and ere an hour be flown ; 
Start not, then, trifler ! — such may be thine own ! 



5. — Genius Unemployed. 

1. Of all the dull, dead weights man ever bore, 
Sure, none can wear the soul with discontent 
Like consciousness of power unused. To feel 
That one has gift to move the multitude, — ■ 
To act upon the life of human kind 
By force of will, or fire of eloquence, 
Or voice of lofty art, and yet, to feel 
No stir of mighty motive in the soul 
To action or endeavor ; to behold 
The fairest prizes of this fleeting life 
Borne off by patient men who, day by day, 
By bravest toil and struggle, reach the heights 
Of great achievement, toiling, struggling thus 
With a strong joy, and with a fine contempt 
For soft and selfish passion ; to see this, 
Yet cling to such a passion, like a slave 
Who hugs his chains in sluggish impotence, 



Holland. 



104 



Kefusing freedom lest he lose the crust 

The chain of bondage warrants him — ah ! this 

Is misery indeed ! 

6. — The Axgel of Sleep. 

1. He drops his plumy, snow-soft wings, 

He waves his balmy hand, 
And wide the gate of silence swings 

That guards the shadowy land. 
Forgot is Time, the sentinel 

That stands outside the door ; 
The gloomy train of cares as well 

That clogged our steps before ; 
Oh river of oblivion ! 

Thy draughts are sweet and deep, 
For memory slumbers on her throne, 

Rocked by the angel, Sleep. 

2. There is a face whose loveliness 

Is marred by hues of care ; 
But sleep hath swept it with his kiss, 

And made it smooth and fair. 
There is a worn and weary brain, 

That rests until the morn : 
There is a heart which beats with pain, 

That feels no more forlorn. 
Oh, Death's fair brother, how divine 

Must be that slumber deep, 
More sweet, more calm, more free than thine, 

When His beloved sleep. 

V. — Where God Appeaks. 

1. Men dream of God as far 
Beyond the highest star. 
His throne they place 
In some far space, 
Where one 
Vast, central sun, 
In awful power, and light, and grandeur rolls, 
And all the movements of all worlds controls. 

2. Not there 

Does He appear ; 



AND OEATORY. 105 

We need not cleave the air 
To find Him near. 
His Spirit dwells 
In smallest cells. 
Within the breast, 
We test 
His love and might. 
In Solar-Plexus deep, 
Our souls their vigils keep : 
And there, 
In hour of prayer, 
Heaven dawns upon the sight. 
In that effulgent light 
The living God is near, 
And to the pure in heart doth evermore appear. 



Beaumont. 



8. — Liee of Man. 

1. Like to the falling of a star, 
Or as the flights of eagles are, 
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
Or silver drops of morning dew, 
Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
Or bubbles which on water stood : 
E'en such is man, whose borrowed light 
Is straight called in and paid to-night : 
The wind blows out, the bubble dies ; 
The spring entombed in autumn lies ; 
The dew's dried up, the star is shot, 
The flight is past, and man forgot. 

9. — The Pilot. 

Thomas Haynes Bayly. 

1. 0, pilot ! 'tis a fearful night, — there's danger on the deep ; 
I'll come and pace the deck with thee, — I do not dare to sleep. 
Go down ! the sailor cried, go down ; this is no place for thee : 
Fear not ; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be. 

2. Ah ! pilot, dangers often met we all are apt to slight, 

And thou hast known these raging waves but to subdue their might. 
It is not apathy, he cried, that gives this strength to me : 
Fear not ; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be. 

3. On such a night the sea engulfed my father's lifeless form ; 
My only brother's boat went down in just so wild a storm ; 

5* 



106 



And such, perhaps, may be my fate ; but still I say to thee, 
Fear not ; but trust in Providence, wherever thou mayst be. 

10. — Immortality. 

R. H. Dana. 

1. " Man, thou shalt never die ! " Celestial voices 
Hymn it unto our souls : according harps, 
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 
Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
The song of our great immortality ! 
Thick-clustering orbs on this our fair domain, 
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas, 
Join in this solemn, universal song. 
listen, ye our spirits ! drink it in 
From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
'Tis floating mid day's setting glories ; night, 
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step, 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears. 
Night and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve, 
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 
By an unseen, living hand, and conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee : 
The dying hear it ; and, as sounds of earth 
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
To mingle in this heavenly harmony. 

11. — Abotj Ben Adheii. 

Leigh Hunt. 
1. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, 
And saw within the moonlight of his room, 
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, 
An angel writing in a book of gold. 
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhern bold, 
And, to the presence in the room, he said, 
" What writest thou ? " The vision raised its head, 
And, with a look made of all sweet accord, 
Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord ! " 
" And is mine one ? " asked Abou. — " Nay, not so," 
Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, 
But cheerly still ; and said — " I pray thee, then, 
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." 



AND ORATORY. 107 

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night 
It came again, with a great wakening light, 
And showed the names whom love of God had blest ; 
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! 

12. — Atheism Reproved. 

From the Italian. 

1. " Thebe is no God," the fool in secret said, — 

" There is no God that rules or earth or sky ! " 
Tear off the band that folds the wretch's head, 

That God may burst upon his faithless eye ! 
Is there no God ? — the stars, in myriads spread, 

If he look up, the blasphemy deny ; 
While his own features, in the mirror read, 

Reflect the image of Divinity. 

2. Is there no God ? — the stream that silv'ry flows, 

The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees, 
The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows, 

All speak of God ; through one voice agrees, 
And eloquent His dread existence shows ; — 

Blind to thyself, ah, see Him, fool, in these ! 



XXXI.— STORY OF LOGAN, A MINGO CHIEF. 

1. In the spring of the year 1774, a robbery and mur- 
der were committed on an inhabitant of the frontiers of 
Virginia by two Indians of the Shawanese tribe. The 
neighboring whites, according to their custom, undertook 
to punish this outrage in a summary way. Colonel Cresap, 
a man infamous for the many murders he had committed 
on those much injured people, collected a party, and pro- 
ceeded down the Kanhaway in quest of vengeance. Un- 
fortunately, a canoe of women and children, with one 
man only, was seen coming from the opposite shore un- 
armed, and unsuspecting any hostile attack from the 
whites. Cresap and his party concealed themselves on the 
bank of the river ; and the moment the canoe reached the 
shore, singled out their objects, and at one fire killed ev^ery 
person in it. 



108 



2. This happened to he the family of Logan, who had 
long been distinguished as the friend of the whites. This 
unworthy return provoked his vengeance. He accordingly 
signalized himself in the war which ensued. In the autumn 
of the same year, a decisive battle was fought at the mouth 
of the Great Kanhaway, between the collected forces of 
the Shawanese, Mingoes, and Delawares, and a detachment 
of the Virginia militia. The Indians were defeated and 
sued for peace. Logan, however, disdained to be seen 
among the suppliants ; but, lest the sincerity of a treaty 
should be disturbed, from which so distinguished a chief 
absented himself, he sent by a messenger, the following 
speech, to be delivered to Lord Dunmore. 

3. " I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he en- 
tered Logan's cabin hungry, and lie gave him no meat ; if 
ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. 
During the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle 
in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love 
for the whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed 
by, and said, Logan is the friend of tohite men. I had 
even thought to have lived with you, had it not been for 
the injuries of one man, — Colonel Cresap, the last spring 
in cold blood, and unprovoked, murdered all the relations 
of Logan, not even sparing my women and children. 

4. " There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of 
any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I 
have sought it ; I have killed many ; I have fully glutted 
my vengeance. For my country, I rejoice at the beams 
of peace ; but do not harbor a thought that mine is the 
joy of fear. Logan never felt fear. He will not turn on 
his heel to save his life. Who is there to mourn for 
Logan ? Not one." 



XXXII.— SPEECH OF A SCYTHIAN EMBASSADOR TO ALEX- 
ANDER. 

1. When the Scythian embassadors waited on Alex- 



AND OEATORT. 109 

ander the Great, they gazed on him a long time without 
speaking a word, being very probably surprized, as they 
formed a judgment of men from their air and stature, to 
find that his did not answer the high idea they entertained 
of him from his fame. At last, the oldest of the embas- 
sadors addressed him thus : " Had the gods given thee a 
body proportioned to thy ambition, the whole universe 
would have been too little for thee. With one hand thou 
wouldst touch the East and with the other the West ; and, 
not satisfied with this, thou wouldst follow the sun, and 
know where he hides himself. 

2. "But what have we to do with thee? We never 
set foot in thy country. May not those w^o inhabit woods 
be allowed to live without knowing who thou art, and 
whence thou comest ? We will neither command over, 
nor submit to any man. And that thou mayest be sen- 
sible what kind of people the Scythians are, know that we 
received from Heaven, as a rich present, a yoke of oxen, a 
ploughshare, a dart, a javelin and a cup. These we make 
use of, both with our friends and against our enemies. 

3. "To our friends we give corn, which we procure 
by the labor of our oxen ; with them we offer wine to the 
gods in our cup ; and with regard to our enemies, we 
combat at a distance with our arrows, and near at hand 
with our javelins. But thou, who boasted thy coming to 
extirpate robbers, art thyself the greatest robber upon 
earth. Thou hast plundered all nations thou overcamest ; 
thou hast possessed thyself of Lybia, invaded Syria, Persia 
and Bactriana ; thou art forming a design to march as far 
as India, and now thou comest hither to seize upon our 
herds of cattle. 

4. " The great possessions thou hast, only make thee 
covet the more eagerly what thou hast not. If thou art a 
god, thou oughtest to do good to mortals, and not deprive 
them of their possessions. If thou art a mere man, reflect 
always on what thou art. They whom thou shalt not 
molest will be thy true friends : the strongest friendships 



110 



being contracted between equals ; and they are esteemed 
equals, who have not tried their strength against each 
other. But do not suppose that those whom thou con- 
querest can love thee." 



XXXIII.— SIXGULAR ADVEXTURE OF GEXERAL PUTXAM. 

1. When General Putnam first moved to Pomfret, in 
Connecticut, in the year 1739, the country was new and 
much infested with wolves. Great havoc was made 
among the sheep by a she-wolf which, with her annual 
whelps, had for several years continued in that vicinity. 
The young ones were commonly destroyed by the vigilance 
of the hunters ; but the old one was too sagacious to be 
ensnared by them. This wolf, at length, became such an 
intolerable nuisance, that Mr. Putnam entered into a com- 
bination with five of his neighbors to hunt alternately until 
they could destroy her. Two by rotation, were to be con- 
stantly in pursuit. It was known, that, having lost the 
toes from one foot, by a steel-trap, she made one track 
shorter than the other. 

2. By this vestige the pursuers recognized, in a light 
snow, the route of this pernicious ' animal. Having fol- 
lowed her to Connecticut river, and found she had turned 
back in a direct course towards Pomfret, they immediate- 
ly returned, and by ten o'clock the next morning the blood- 
hounds had driven her into a den, about three miles distant 
from the house of Mr. Putnam. The people soon collected 
with dogs, guns, straw, fire and sulphur to attack the com- 
mon enemy. With this apparatus several unsuccessful efforts 
were made to force her from the den. The hounds came 
back badly wounded, and refused to return. The smoke 
of blazing straw had no effect. ISTor did the fumes of burnt 
brimstone, with which the cavern was filled, compel her to 
quit the retirement. 

3. Wearied with such fruitless attempts (which had 



AND OKATORY. Ill 

brought the time to ten o'clock at night), Mr. Putnam tried 
once more to make his dog enter, but in vain ; he proposed 
to his negro man to go down into the cavern and shoot the 
wolf. The negro declined the hazardous service. Then it 
was that their master, angry at the disappointment, and 
declaring that he was ashamed at having a coward in his 
family, resolved himself to destroy the ferocious beast, lest 
she should escape through some unknown fissure of the 
rock. His neighbors strongly remonstrated against the 
perilous enterprise ; but he knowing that wild animals were 
intimidated by fire, and having provided several strips of 
birch bark, the only combustible material which he could 
obtain, which would afford light in this deep and darksome 
cave, prepared for his descent. 

4. Having accordingly divested himself of his coat and 
waistcoat, and having a long rope fastened round his legs, 
by which he might be pulled back, at a concerted signal, 
he entered, head foremost, with a blazing torch in his hand. 
Having groped his passage till he came to a horizontal 
part of the den, the most terrifying darkness appeared in 
front of the dim circle of light afforded by his torch. It 
was silent as the house of death. None but monsters of 
the desert had ever before explored this solitary mansion 
of horror. He cautiously proceeding onward came to an 
ascent which he slowly mounted on his hands and knees, 
until he discovered the glaring eye-balls of the wolf, which 
was sitting at the extremity of the cavern. Startled at 
the sight of fire, she gnashed her teeth and gave a sullen 
growl. 

5. As soon as he had made the necessary discovery, he 
kicked the rope as a signal for pulling him out. The people 
at the mouth of the den, who had listened with painful 
anxiety, hearing the growling of the wolf, and supposing 
their friend to be in the most imminent danger, drew him 
forth with such celerity that he was stripped of his clothes, 
and severely bruised. After he had adjusted his clothes, 
and loaded his gun with nine buck shot, holding a torch in 



112 wiley's elocution 

one hand and the musket in the other, he descended a second 
time. When he drew nearer than before, the wolf assuming 
a still more fierce and terrible appearance, howling, rolling 
her eyes, snapping her teeth, and dropping her head be- 
tween her legs, was evidently, in the attitude and on the 
point of springing at him. 

6. At this critical instant, he levelled and fired at her 
head. Stunned with the shock, and suffocated with the 
smoke, he immediately found himself drawn out of the 
cave. But having refreshed himself and permitted the 
smoke to dissipate, he went down the third time. Once 
more he came within sight of the wolf, which appearing 
very passive, he applied the torch to her nose ; and per- 
ceiving her dead, he took hold of her ears, and then kick- 
ing the rope (still tied round his legs) the people above 
with no small exultation dragged them both out together. 



XXXIV.— THE AGED PRISONER RELEASED FROM THE BASTILE. 

1. Nowhere else on earth, perhaps, has human misery, 
by human means been rendered so lasting, so complete or 
remediless as in that despotic prison, the Bastile. This 
the following case may suffice to evince : the particulars 
of which are translated from that elegant and energetic 
writer, Mr. Mercier. The heinous offence which merited 
an imprisonment surpassing torture, and rendering death 
a blessing, was no- more than some unguarded expressions, 
implying disrespect towards the late Gallic monarch, Louis 
XV. 

2. Upon the accession of Louis XVI. to the throne, 
the ministers then in office, moved by humanity, began 
their administration with an act of clemency and justice. 
They inspected the registers of the Bastile, and set many 
prisoners at liberty. Among those, there was an. old man 
who had groaned in confinement for forty-seven years, 



AND ORATORY. 113 

between four thick and cold stone walls. Hardened by 
adversity, which strengthens both the mind and constitu- 
tion, when they are not overpowered by it, he had resisted 
the horrors of his long imprisonment, with an invincible 
and manly spirit. 

3. His locks, white, thin, and scattered, had almost 
acquired the rigidity of iron ; whilst his body, environed 
for so long a time by a coffin of stone, had borrowed from 
it a firm and compact habit. The narrow door of his 
tomb, turning upon its grating hinges, opened not as usual 
by halves, and an unknown voice announced his liberty, 
and bade him depart. Believing this to be a dream, he 
hesitated ; but at length rose up and walked forth with 
trembling steps, amazed at the space he traversed. The 
stairs of the prison, the halls, the court seemed to him vast, 
immense, and almost without bounds. 

4. He stopped from time to time, and gazed around 
like a bewildered traveller. His vision was with difficulty 
reconciled to the clear light of day. He contemplated 
the heavens as a new object. His eyes remained fixed, 
and he could not even weep. Stupefied witn his newly 
acquired power of changing his position, his limbs, like 
his tongue, refused, in spite of his efforts, to perform their 
office. At length he got through the formidable gates. 
When he felt the motion of the carriage which was 
prepared to transport him to his former habitation, he 
screamed out and uttered some inarticulate sounds ; and 
as he could not bear this new movement, he was obliged 
to descend. Supported by a benevolent arm, he sought 
out the street where he had formerly resided : he found it, 
but no trace of his house remained: one of the public 
edifices occupied the spot where it stood. 

5. He now saw nothing which brought to his recollec- 
tion, either that particular quarter, the city itself, or the 
objects with which he was formerly acquainted. The 
houses of his nearest neighbors, which were fresh in his 

5* 



114: 



memory, had assumed a new appearance. In vain were 
his looks directed to all the objects around him : he could 
discover nothing of which he had the smallest remem- 
brance. Terrified, he stopped and fetched a deep sigh. 
To him what did it import, that the city was peopled with 
living creatures? None of them were alive to him: he 
was unknown to all the world, and he knew nobody ; and 
while he wept he regretted his dungeon. 

6. At the name of the Bastile, which he often pro- 
nounced and even claimed as an asylum, and the sight of 
his clothes which marked his former age, the crowd gath- 
ered around him : curiosity blended with pity excited their 
attention. The most aged asked him many questions, but 
had no remembrance of the circumstances which he re- 
capitulated. At length accident brought to his way an an- 
cient domestic, now a superannuated porter, who, confined to 
his lodge for fifteen years, had barely sufficient strength to 
open the gate. Even he did not know the master he had 
served ; but informed him that grief and misfortune had 
brought his wife to the grave thirty years before ; that his 
children wer6 gone abroad to distant climes, and that of all 
his relations and friends, none now remained. 

7. This recital was made with the indifference which 
people discover for events long passed and almost forgot- 
ten. The miserable man groaned, and groaned alone. 
The crowd around, offering only unknown features to his 
view, made him feel the excesses of his calamities, even 
more than he would have done in the dreadful solitude 
which he had left. Overcome with sorrow, he presented 
himself before the minister, to whose humanity he owed 
that liberty which was no w a burden to him. Bowing down, 
he said, " Restore me again to that prison from which you 
have taken me. I cannot survive the loss of my nearest re- 
lations ; of my friends ; and in one word, of a whole gene- 
ration. Is it possible in the same moment to be informed 
of this universal destruction, and not wish for death ? 



AND OKATOPwY. 115 

8. "This general mortality, which to others comes 
slowly and by degrees, has to me been instantaneous, the 
operation of a moment. While secluded from society, I 
lived with myself only ; but here I can neither live with 
myself, nor with this new race, to whom my anguish and 
despair appear only as a dream." The minister was melt- 
ed ; he caused the old domestic to attend this unfortunate 
person, as only he could talk to him of his family. This 
discourse was the single consolation which he received ; 
for he shunned intercourse with the new race, bora since 
he had been exiled from the world ; and he passed his time 
in the midst of Paris in the same solitude as he had done 
while confined in a dungeon for almost half a century. 
But the chagrin and mortification of meeting no person who 
could say to him, "We were formerly known to each 
other," soon put an end to his life. 



XXXV.— THE POWER OF HABIT. 

J. B. Gough. 

1. I remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara 
Falls. I said to a gentleman, " What river is that, sir ? " 

" That," he said, " is Niagara river." 

"Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I; "bright and 
fair and glassy ; how far off are the rapids ? " 

" Only a mile or two," was the reply. 

" Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the 
water in the turbulence which it must show near to the 
Falls ? " 

" You will find it so, ear." And so I found it ; and the 
first sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch 
your bark on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, 
beautiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the 
silver wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. 

2. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in 
proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. 
Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, f ' Young men, 
ahoy ! " 



116 



" What is it ? " 

" The rapids are below you." 

" Ha ! hah ! we have heard of the rapids, but we are 
not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we 
shall up with the helm and steer to the shore ; we will set 
the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed, to the land. 
Then on, boys ; don't be alarmed — there is no danger." 

" Young men, ahoy there ! " 

" What is it ? " 

" The rapids are below you ! " 

3. " Ha ! hah ! we will laugh and quaff; all things 
delight us. What care we for the future ! No man ever 
saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We' 
will enjoy life while we may ; will catch pleasure as it flies. 
This is enjoyment ; time enough to steer out of danger 
when we are sailing swiftly with the current." 

" Young men, ahoy ! " 

" What is it ? " 

" Beware ! Beware ! The rapids are below you ! " 

Now you see the water foaming all around. See how 
fast you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! 
Pull hard ! quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! 
pull till the blood starts from thy nostrils, and the veins 
stand like whip-cords upon thy brow ! Set the mast in 
the socket ! hoist the sail ! — ah ! ah ! it is too late ! 
" Shrieking, cursing, howling, blaspheming, over they go." 

Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the 
power of habit, crying all the w r hile, " When I find out that 
it is injuring me I will give it up ! " 



XXXVI.— SENDING RELIEF TO IRELAND, 1847. 

S. S. Prentiss. 
1. We have assembled, not to respond to shouts of 
triumph from the West,* but to answer the cry of want 

* Referring to the victories in Mexico, the news of which had been recently re- 
ceived. 



a:nd okatory. 117 

and suffering which comes from the East. The Old World 
stretches out her arms to the New. The starving parent 
supplicates the young and vigorous child for bread. There 
lies, upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beautiful 
island, famous in story and in song. Its area is not so 
great as that of the State of Louisiana, while its popula- 
tion is almost half that of the Union. It has given to the 
world more than its share of genius and of greatness. It 
has been prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its 
brave and generous sons have fought successfully all battles 
but their own. 

2. In wit and humor it has no equal, while its harp, 
like its history, moves to tears, by its sweet but melancholy 
pathos. Into this fair region God has seen fit to send the 
most terrible of all those fearful ministers who fulfil his 
inscrutable decrees. The earth has failed to give her in- 
crease ; the common mother has forgotten her offspring, 
and her breast no longer affords them their accustomed 
nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, has 
seized a nation in its strangling grasp ; and unhappy Ire- 
land, in the sad woes of the present, forgets, for a moment, 
the gloomy history of the past. 

3. O, it is terrible, in this beautiful world, which the 
good God has given us, and in which there is plenty for us 
all, that men should die of starvation ! You, who see, 
each day, poured into the lap of your city food sufficient 
to assuage the hunger of a nation, can form but an imper- 
fect idea of the horrors of famine. In battle, in the ful- 
ness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier 
whether the hissing bullet sings his sudden requiem, or 
the cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he 
who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day, with his 
grim and unrelenting enemy. 

4. The blood recedes, the flesh deserts, the muscles re- 
lax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last, the mind ? 
which, at first, had bravely nerved itself for the contest, 
gives way, under the mysterious influences which govern 



118 



its union with the body. Then he begins to doubt the 
existence of an overruling Providence ; he hates his fel- 
low-men, and glares upon them with the longings of a can- 
nibal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming ! 

5. Who will hesitate to give his mite to avert such 
awful results ? Surely not the citizens of New Orleans, 
ever famed for deeds of benevolence and charity. Freely 
have your hearts and purses opened, heretofore, to the call 
of suffering humanity. Nobly did you respond to op- 
pressed Greece and to struggling Poland. Within Erin's 
borders is an enemy more cruel than the Turk, more 
tyrannical than the Russian. Bread is the only weapon 
that can conquer him. Let us, then, load ships with this 
glorious munition, and, in the name of our common hu- 
manity, wage war against this despot Famine. Let us, in 
God's name, " cast our bread upon the waters," and if we 
ar.e selfish enough to desire it back again, we may recol- 
lect the promise, that it shall return to us after many days. 



XXXVIL— IRISH ALIENS AXD ENGLISH VICTORIES. 

Sheil. 

1. I should be surprised, indeed, if, while you are 
doing us wrong, you did not profess your solicitude to do 
us justice. From the day on which Strongbow set his foot 
upon the shore of Ireland, Englishmen were never want- 
ing in protestations of their deep anxiety to do us justice : 
even Strafford, the deserter of the People's cause, — the 
renegade Wentworth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the 
spirit of instinctive tyranny which predominated in his 
character : even Strafford, while he trampled upon our 
rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, protested 
his solicitude to do justice to Ireland. 

2. What marvel is it, then, that Gentlemen opposite 
should deal in such vehement protestations ? There is, 
however, one man, of great abilities, — not a member of 



AND ORATORY. 119 

this House, but whose talents and whose boldness have 
placed him in the topmost place in his party, — who, dis- 
daining all imposture, and thinking it the best course to 
appeal directly to the religious and national antipathies of 
the people of this country, abandoning all reserve, and 
flinging off the slender veil by which his political associates 
affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives, 
distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish People that they 
are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen; 
and pronounces them, in any particular which could enter 
his minute enumeration of the circumstances by which 
fellow-citizenship is created, in race, identity and religion, 
to be aliens : to be aliens in race, to be aliens in country, 
to be aliens in religion ! Aliens ! good heavens ! was 
Arthur, Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, — 
and did he not start up and exclaim, "Hold! I have 

SEEN THE ALIENS DO THEIR DUTY ! " 

3. The Duke of Wellington is not a man of an excit- 
able temperament. His mind is of a cast too martial to 
be easily moved ; but, notwithstanding his habitual in- 
flexibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he heard his 
Roman Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) 
designated by a phrase as offensive as the abundant vocab- 
ulary of his eloquent confederate could supply, — I cannot 
help thinking that he ought to have recollected the many 
fields of fight in which we have been contributors to his 
renown. 

4. " The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," 
ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have 
remembered that, from the earliest achievement in which 
he displayed that military genius which has placed him 
foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to that 
last and surpassing combat which has made his name im- 
perishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo, the Irish soldiers, 
with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable 
auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled suc- 
cesses have been crowned. Whose were the arms that 



120 



drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the phalanxes 
that never reeled in the shock of war before ? 

5. What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled 
the moats at Badajos ? * All his victories should have 
rushed and crowded back upon his memory, — Vimiera, 
Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all, 
the Greatest. Tell me, — for you were there, — I appeal to 
the gallant soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), from 
whose opinions I differ, but who bears, I know, a generous 
heart in an intrepid breast : tell me, — for you must needs 
remember, — on that day when the destinies of mankind 
were trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, 
when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision 
of the most deadly science, — when her legions, incited by 
the voice and inspired by the example of their mighty lead- 
er, rushed again and again to the onset, — tell me if, for an 
instant, when to hesitate for an instant was to be lost, the 
" aliens " blenched ? 

6. And when, at length, the moment for the last and 
decided movement had arrived, and the valor which had 
so long been wisely checked was, at last, let loose : when, 
with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- 
manded the great assault : tell me if Catholic Ireland 
with less heroic valor than the natives of this your own 
glorious country precipitated herself upon the foe ? The 
blood of England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the 
same stream, and drenched the same field. When the 
drill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark to- 
gether : in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited : 
the green corn of spring is now breaking from their com- 
mingled dust : the dew falls from Heaven upon their union 
in the grave. Partakers in every peril, in the glory shall 
we not be permitted to participate ; and shall we be told, 
as a requital, that we are estranged from the noble coun- 
try for whose salvation our life-blood was poured out ? 

* Pronounced Ba-dah-yhos. 



AND ORATORY. 121 



XXXVIII.— PROSE SELECTIONS. 

1. — Remarkable Patience. 
1. The most extraordinary instance of patience on 
record, in modern times, is that of an Illinois judge, who 
listened silently for two days w T hile a couple of wordy 
attorneys contended about the construction of an act of 
the Legislature, and then ended the controversy by quietly 
remarking : " Gentlemen, the law is repealed." 

2. — Curiosity. 
1. A traveller going from Erie to Pittsburg, fell in 
with a Yankee, each being mounted on a horse. The first 
was rather inclined to taciturnity, and bore with great 
patience the questions with which the New Englander 
bored him from time to time. Finally, upon the Yankee 
noticing that he had lost an arm and inquiring the reason, 
he replied, " I will tell you, my friend, if you will promise 
on your honor to ask no more questions." The promise 
was made. " Well," said the stranger, " it was bit off." 
The Yankee rode on in silence for several miles, but in 
an agony of curiosity. At last, in a transport of despair he 
exclaimed, " I vow to gracious, I would give a shilling to 
know what bit it off." 

3. — Colonel Pice. 

1. Colonel Pice spent the winter in Lexington, Ken- 
tucky. A friend of his went out to visit him. " Some 
Sunday," says the Colonel, " I want you to hearken to our 
church bells here. There's four of 'em. Each of 'em 
sounds out its own denominational call. 

" There's the Episcopal. That is a heavy, deep-toned, 
sonorous bell. Now you see if that don't ring out — 'Pos- 
tolic succession ! 'Postolic succession ! 

" Then the old Presbyterian : that's most as deep- 
sounding, and that says — Eternal damnation ! Eternal 
damnation ! Eternal damnation ! 
G 



122 

" The Baptist is quicker — a sharp, snappy bell, and 
that says rapid — Come up and be dipped! Come up and 
be dipped ! Come up and be dipped ! Come up and be 
dipped ! 

" But the Methodist : that's a crowner ; it talks right 
out — Room — for — all ! Room — for — all ! Room — for — all ! 

4. — A Quaker Woman's Sermon. 
1. "My dear friends there are three things I very 
much wonder at. The first is, that children should throw 
stones, clubs, and brickbats up into fruit trees to knock 
down fruit ; if they would let it alone it would fall itself. 
The second is, that men should be so foolish, and so wick- 
ed, as to go to war and kill each other ; if let alone they 
would die themselves. And the third and last thing that 
I wonder at, is that young men should be so unwise as to 
go after the young women ; if they would stay at home 
the young women would come after them."- 

5. — The Sunken Lake. 

1. The Sentinel, published at Jacksonville, Oregon, 
says : " Several of our citizens returned last week from a 
visit to the great Sunken Lake, situated in Cascade moun- 
tains, about 75 miles north-east from Jacksonville. This 
*ake rivals the famous valley of Sinbad, the sailor. It is 
thought to average 2,000 feet down to the water all around. 
The walls are almost perpendicular, running down into the 
water, and leaving no beach. The depth of the water is 
unknown, and its surface is smooth and unruffled, and it 
lies so far below the surface of the mountain that the air 
currents do not affect it. Its length is estimated at 12 miles, 
and its breadth at 10, 

2. ISTo living man ever has, and probably never will be 
able to reach the water's edge. It lies silent, still and 
mysterious in the bosom of the ' everlasting hills ' like a 
huge well, scooped out by the hands of the giant genii of 
the mountain in unknown ages gone by, and around it the 



AND OKATOEY. 123 

primeval forest watch and ward are keeping. The visiting 
party fired a rifle several times into the water at an angle 
of 42 degrees, and were able to denote several seconds of 
time from the report of the gun until the ball struck the 
water. Such seems incredible, but is vouched for by- 
some of our most trustworthy citizens. The lake is cer- 
tainly a most remarkable curiosity." 

6. — Wanted a Receipt. 

1. Jo Socabsin, a Penobscot Indian, was sued for the 
sum of $5 'by a white man, before Squire Johnson. On 
the day of the trial, Jo made his appearance and tendered 
the requisite amount for debt and costs, and demanded a 
receipt in full. 

" Why, Jo, it is unnecessary," said the Squire. 

" Oh, yes, me want 'um receipt sartin." 

" I tell you, Jo, a receipt will do you no good." 

" Sartin, Squire Johnson, I want 'um." 

" What do you want it for, Jo ? " 

" Oh, spose me die and go to Heaven : then spose they 
say — ' Well, Jo Socabsin, you owe any man now ? ' Then 
me say, ' No.' ' Very well, did you payum Ben John- 
son ? ' ' Oh yes, me payum.' c Well, then, spose you 
show 'um receipt ! ' Then me have to rmi all over hell, 
to huntum up Squire Johnson." 



XXXIX.— TEE UNION. 

Mrs. Sarah T. Bolton. 
1. Dissolve the Union ! Let the blush of shame 

Hide, with its crimson glow, the brazen cheek 
Of him who dares avow the traitorous aim. 

"lis not the true, the wise, the good, who speak 

Words of such fearful import : 'tis the weak, 
Drunk with fanaticism's poisoned wine, 

Who, reckless of the future, blindly seek 
To hold their saturnalia at the shrine 
That noble souls have held, and still must hold, divine. 



124 



2. Dissolve the Union ! madmen, would you rend 

The glorious motto from our country's crest ? 
Would ye despoil the stars and stripes that send 

Home, food, protection, to the world's oppressed ? 

Have ye no reverence for the high bequest, 
That : our immortal sires bestowed ere while ? 

Has sin effaced the image God impressed 
On your humanity, that you could smile, 
To see the lurid flames of freedom's funeral pile ? 

3. Dissolve the Union ! In the day and hour 

Ye rend the blood-cemented ties in twain, 
The fearful cloud of civil war shall lower 

On every old blue hill and sunny plain, 

From torrid Mexico to frigid Maine ! 
Dissolve the Union ! No, ye cannot part, 

With idle words, the blessed ties that bind, 
In one the interests of the mighty heart, 

That treasure up the hopes of all mankind. 

Awhile, perhaps, the blind may lead the blind, 

From beaten paths to quagmires, ere they find 
The ray that shone so beautiful and bright, 
Was but a phantom lure to deeper, darker night. 

4. Dissolve the Union ! Never ! Ye may sow 

The seeds of vile dissension through the land, 
May madly aim a parricidal blow, 

And show your disregard of all its grand 

Eternal interests ; but a noble 'band 
Of patriots, tried, and true, will still remain, 

With heart to heart, and sinewy hand to hand, 
To guard from foul dishonor's cankering stain, 
The jewels God has shrined in freedom's holy fane. 

5. Dissolve the Union ! — perish first the page 

That gave to human sight the hideous scrawl : 
Let not the freemen of a future age 

Kead these detested words : they would recall 

Shame, madness, imbecility, and all 
That mars the noontide glory of our time. 

True to the undivided, stand or fall, 
To waver now is little less than crime, 
To battle for the right is glorious, is sublime. 



AND ORATOEY. 125 



XL,— THE FIREMAN. 

F. S. Hill. 

1. Hark ! that alarm-boil, 'mid the wintry storm ! 
Hear the loud shout ! the rattling engines swarm. 
Hear that distracted mother's cry to save 

Her darling infant from a threatened grave ! 

That babe who lies in sleep's light pinions bound, 

And dreams of heaven, while hell is raging round ! 

Forth springs the Fireman — stay ! nor tempt thy fate ! — 

He hears not — heeds not — nay, it is too late ! 

See how the timbers crash beneath his feet ! ■ 

0, which way now is left for his retreat ? 

The roaring flames already bar his way, 

Like ravenous demons raging for their prey ! 

He laughs at danger, — pauses not for rest, 

Till the sweet charge is folded to his breast. 

2. Now, quick, brave youth, retrace your path, — but, lo I 
A fiery gulf yawns fearfully below ! 

One desperate leap ! — lost ! lost ! — the flames arise, 

And paint their triumph on the o'erarching skies ! 

Not lost ! again his tottering form appears ! 

The applauding shouts of rapturous friends he hears ! 

The big drops from his manly forehead roll, 

And deep emotions thrill his generous soul. 

3. But struggling nature now reluctant yields ; 
Down drops the arm the infant's face that shields, 
To bear the precious burthen all too weak ; 
When, hark ! — the mother's agonizing shriek ! 
Once more he's roused, — his eye no longer swims, 
And tenfold strength reanimates his limbs ; 

He nerves his faltering frame for one last bound, — 
" Your child ! " he cries, and sinks upon the ground ! 

4. And his reward you ask ; — reward he spurns ; 
For him the father's generous bosom burns, — 
For him on high the widow's prayer shall go, — 
For him the orphan's pearly tear-drop flow. 
His boon, — the richest e'er to mortals given, — 
Approving conscience, and the smile of Heaven ! 

From Griffith's Elocution. 



126 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 



XLL— LAY OF THE MADMAN. 

1. Many a year hath passed away, 

Many a dark and dismal year, 
"Since last I roamed in the light of day, 

Or mingled my own with another's tear ; 
Woe to the daughters and sons of men — 
Woe to them all when I roam again ! 

2. Here have I watched, in this dungdon cell, 
Longer than Memory's tongue can tell ; 
Here have I shrieked, in my wild despair, 

When the damned fiends, from their prison came, 
Sported and gamboled, and mocked me here 
• With their eyes of fire, and their tongues of flame, 
Shouting forever and aye my name ! 
And I strove in vain to burst my chain, 
And longed to be free as the winds again, 
That I might spring in the wizard ring, 
And scatter them back to their hellish den ! 
Woe to the daughters and sons of men — 
Woe to them all, when I roam again ! 

3. How long have I been in this dungeon here, 
' Little I know, and nothing I care ; 

What to me is the day, or night, 
Summer's heat, or autumn sere, 

Spring-tide flowers, or winter's blight, 
"Pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear ? 

Time ! what care I for thy flight, 
Joy ! I spurn thee with disdain ; 
Nothing love I but this clanking chain ; 
Once I broke from its iron hold, 
Nothing I said, but silent, and bold, 
Like the shepherd that watches his gentle fold, 
Like the tiger that crouches in mountain lair, 
Hours upon hours so watched I here ; 
Till one of the fiends that had come to bring 
Herbs from the valley and drink from the spring, 
Stalked through my dungeon entrance in ! 
Ha ! how he shrieked to see me free — 
Ho ! how he trembled, and knelt to me, 
He, who had mocked me many a day, 
And barred me out from its cheerful ray — 



AND ORATORY. 127 

Gods ! how I shouted to see him pray ! 
I wreathed my hands in the demon's hair, 
And choked his breath in its muttered prayer, 
And danced I then, in wild delight, 
To see the trembling wretch's fright ! 

4. Gods ! how I crushed his hated bones ! 

'Gainst the jagged wall and the dungeon stones ; 
And plunged my arm adown his throat, 

And dragged to life his beating heart, 
And held it up that I might gloat, 

To see its quivering fibres start ! 
Ho ! how I drank of the purple flood, 
Quaffed, and quaffed again, of blood, 
Till my brain grew dark, and I knew no more, 
Till I found myself on this dungeon floor, 
Fettered and held by this iron chain ; 

Ho ! when I break its links again, 

Ha ! when I break its links again, 
"Woe to the daughters and sons of men ! 



XLIL— THE MOUNTAIN'S OF LIFE. 

J. G. Clark. 

1. There's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told, 

Where they know not the sorrows of time : 
Where the pure waters wander through valleys of gold, 

And life is a treasure sublime ; 
'Tis the land of our God, 'tis the home of the soul, 
Where the ages of splendor eternally roll, 
Where the way-weary traveller reaches his goal, 

On the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

2. Our gaze cannot soar to that beautiful land, 

But our visions have told of its bliss, 
And our souls by the gale of its gardens are fanned, 

When we faint in the desert of this ; 
And we sometimes have longed for its holy repose, 
When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes, 
And we've drank from the tide of the river that flows 

From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 

3. 0, the stars never tread the blue heavens at night, 

But we think where the ransomed have trod ; 



128 wiley's elocution 

And the day never smiles from his palace of light, 

But we feel the bright smile of our God. 
We are travelling homeward through changes and gloom, 
To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom, 
And our guide is the glory that shines through the tomb, 
From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 



XLIII.— SCOTT AND THE VETERAN. 

Bayard Taylor. 
1. An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came. 
He sought the Chief who led him, on many a field of fame : 
The Chief who shouted, " Forward ! " where'er his banner rose, 
And bore his stars in triumph behind the flying foes. 
" Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, 
" The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side ? 
Have you forgotten Johnson, that fought at Lundy's Lane ? 
'Tis true, Fm old, and pensioned, but I want to fight again." 
" Have I forgotten ? " said the Chief, " my brave old soldier, No ! 
And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so ; 
But you have done your share, my friend ; you're crippled, old, and 

gray, 
And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." 

. " But, General ! " cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, 
" The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now ; 

They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue, 

And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. 

I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun 

To get the range of traitors' hearts, and pick them one by one. 

Your Minie rifles, and such arms, it a'n't worth while to try ; 

I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry ! " 
" God bless you, comrade ! " said the Chief — " God bless your loyal heart ! 

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have their part. 

3. They'll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, 

And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down ! " 
" But, General," — still persisting — the weeping veteran cried 
" I am young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide , 
And some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least, can I ; 
So, give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die : 
If they should fire on Fickens, let the Colonel in command 
Put me upon the rampart, with the flag-staff in my hand ; 



AND ORATORY. 129 

No odds how hot the cannon smoke, or how the shells may fly, 
I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, arid hold them till I die ! 

\. I'm ready, General, so you let a post to me be given, 

Where Washington can see me, as he looks from highest Heaven, 
And sgys to Putnam, at his side, or, may be, General Wayne, 
' There stands eld Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane ! ' 
And when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly, 
When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, 
If any shot should hit me, and lay me on my face, 
My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place ! " 



XLIV.— DRUNKARDS. NOT ALL BRUTES. 

John B. Gough. 

1. I said when I began, that I was a trophy of this 
movement ; and therefore the principal part of my work 
has been (not ignoring other parts) in behalf of those 
who have suffered as I have suffered. You know there is 
a great deal said about the reckless victims of this foe 
being " brutes." No, they are not brutes. I have labored 
for about eighteen years among them and I never have 
found a brute. I have had men swear at me : I have had 
a man dance around me as if possessed of a devil, and spit 
his foam in my face ; but he is not a brute. 

2. I think it is Charles Dickens who says : " Away up 
a great many pair of stairs, in a very remote corner, easily 
passed by, there is a door, and on that door is written 
' woman.' " And so in the heart of the vile outcast, away 
up a great many pair of stairs, in a very remote corner, 
easily passed by, there is a door, on which is written 
"man." Here is our business to find that door. It may 
take a time ; but begin and knock. Don't get tired ; but 
remember God's long suffering for us and keep knocking 
a long time if need be. Don't get weary if there is no 
answer ; remember Him whose locks were wet with dew. 

3. Knock on — -just try it — you try it ; and just so sure 
as you do, just so sure, by-and-by, will the quivering lip 
and starting tear tell you have knocked at the heart of a 

6* 



130 

man, and not of a brute. It is because tbese poor wretches 
are men, and not brutes that we have hopes of them. 
They said " he is a brute — let him alone." I took him 
home with me and kept the " brute " fourteen days and 
nights, through his delirium ; and he nearly frightened 
Mary out of her wits, once chasing her about the house 
with a boot in his hand. But she recovered her wits, and 
he recovered his. 

4. He said to me, " You wouldn't think I had a wife 
and child ? " " Well, I shouldn't." " I have, and— God 
bless her little heart — my little Mary is as pretty a little 
thing as ever stepped," said the " brute." I asked, " where 
do they live ? " " They live two miles away from here." 
"When did you see them last ? " " About two years ago." 
Then he told me his story. I said, " you must go back to 
your home again." 

5. "I mus'nt go back — I won't — my wife is better with- 
out me than with me ! I will not go back any more ; I have 
knocked her, and kicked her, and abused her ; do you sup- 
pose I will go back agaiu ? " I went to the house with him ; 
I knocked at the door and his wife opened it. " Is this 
Mrs. Richardson ? " " Yes, sir." " Well, that is Mr. Rich- 
ardson. And Mr. Richardson, that is Mrs. Richardson. 
Kow come into the house." They went in. The wife sat 
on one side of the room and the " brute " on the other. I 
waited to see who would speak first ; and it was the woman. 
But before she spoke she fidgetted a good deal. 

6. She pulled her apron till she got hold of the hem, 
and then she pulled it down again. Then she folded it up 
closely, and jerked it out through her fingers an inch at a 
time, and then she spread it all down again ; and then she 
looked all about the room and said, " Well, William ? " 
And the " brute " said, " Well, Mary ? " He had a large 
handkerchief round his neck, and she said, " You had 
better take the handkerchief off, William ; you'll need it 
when you go out." He began to fumble about it. 

7. The knot was large enough ; he could have untied 



AND ORATORY. 131 

it if lie liked ; but he said, " Will you untie it, Mary ? " 
and she worked away at it ; but her fingers were clumsy, 
and she couldn't get it off; their eyes met, and the love- 
light was not all quenched ; she opened ber arms gently 
and he fell into them. If you had seen those white arms 
clasped about his neck, and he sobbing on her breast, and 
the child looking in wonder first at one and then at the 
other, you would have said " It is not a brute ; it is a man, 
with a great, big, warm heart in his breast." 



XLV.— AN APPEAL TO THE PATEIOTISM OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 

Andrew Jackson. 

1. Fellow Citizens of my native State ! let me not only 
admonish you, as the first magistrate of our common coun- 
try, not to incur the penalty of its laws, but use the influ- 
ence that a father would over his children whom he saw 
rushing to certain ruin. In that paternal language, with 
that paternal feeling, let me tell you, my countrymen, that 
you are deluded by men who either are deceived themselves 
or wish to deceive yon. Mark under what pretenses you 
have been led on to the brink of insurrection and treason, 
on which you stand. 

2. You were told that this opposition might be peace- 
ably, — might be constitutionally made, — that you might 
enjoy all the advantages of the Union, and bear none of 
its burdens. Eloquent appeals to your passions, to your 
State pride, to your native courage, to your sense of real 
injury, were used to prepare you for the period when the 
mask which concealed the hideous features of disunion, 
should be taken off. It fell, and you were made to look 
with complacency on objects which not long since you 
would have regarded with horror. 

3. Look back at the acts which have brought you to 
this state : look forward to the consequences, to 'which it 
must inevitably lead. Something in ore is necessary. Con- 
template the condition of that country, of which you still 



132 



form an important part ! Consider its government, uniting 
in one bond of common interest and general protection, so 
many different States : giving to all their inhabitants the 
proud title of American citizens : protecting their com- 
merce : securing their literature and their arts : facili- 
tating their intercommunication : defending their fron- 
tiers ;' and making their name respected in the remotest 
parts of the earth ! 

4. Consider the extent of its territory, its increasing 
and happy population, its advance in arts which render life 
agreeable, and the sciences which elevate the mind ! See 
education spreading the lights of religion, humanity, and 
general information, into every cottage in this wide extent 
of our territories and states ! Behold it as the asylum 
where the wretched and the oppressed find refuge and 
support ! Look on this picture of happiness and honor, 
and say, " We, too, are citizens of America ; Carolina 
is one of these proud States ; her arms have defended, — 
her best blood has cemented this happy Union ! " And 
then add, if you can, without horror and remorse, " This 
happy Union we will dissolve : this picture of peace and 
prosperity we will deface : this free intercourse we will 
interrupt : these fertile fields we will deluge with blood : 
the protection of that glorious flag we renounce : the very 
name of Americans we discard." 

5. And for what, mistaken men ! for what do you 
throw away these inestimable blessings ; for what would 
you exchange your share in the advantages and honor of 
the Union ? For the dream of a separate independence, 
a dream interrupted by bloody conflicts with your neigh- 
bors, and a vile dependence on foreign power ? If your 
leaders could succeed in establishing a separation, what 
would be your situation ? Are you united at home : are 
you free from the apprehensions of civil discord, with all 
its fearful consequences ? Do our neighboring republics, 
every day suffering some new revolution, or contending 
with some new insurrection, — do they excite your envy ? 



AND ORATORY. 133 

6. But the dictates of a high duty oblige ine solemnly to 
announce that you cannot succeed. The laws of the United 
States must be executed, I have no discretionary power on 
the subject : my duty is emphatically pronounced in the 
constitution. Those who told you that you might peaceably 
prevent their execution, deceived you : they could not have 
been deceived themselves. They know that a forcible oppo- 
sition could alone prevent the execution of the laws, and they 
know that such opposition must be repelled. Their object 
is disunion ; but be not deceived by names ; disunion, by 
armed force, is treason. 

7. Are you really ready to incur its guilt ? If you are, 
on the heads of the instigators of the act, be the dreadful 
consequences : on their heads be the dishonor, but on yours 
may fall the punishment : on your unhappy state will inevi- 
tably fall all the evils of the conflict you force upon the gov- 
ernment of your country. It cannot accede to the mad pro- 
ject of disunion, of which you would be the first victims : 
its first magistrate cannot, if he would, avoid the perform- 
ance of his duty : the consequence must be fearful for you, 
distressing to your fellow-citizens here, and to the friends 
of good government throughout the world. 

8. Its enemies have beheld our prosperity with a vexa- 
tion they could not conceal, — it was a standing refutation 
of their slavish doctrines, and they will point to our dis- 
cord with the triumph of malignant joy. It is yet in your 
power to disappoint them. There is yet time to show 
that the descendants of the Pinckneys, the Sumters, the 
Rutledges, and of the thousand other names which adorn 
the pages of your Revolutionary history, will not abandon 
that Union, to support v/hich so many of them fought, 
and bled, and died. 

9. I adjure you, as you honor their memories, — as you 
love the cause of freedom, to which they dedicated their 
lives, — as you prize the peace of your country, the lives 
of its best citizens, and your own fair fame, to retrace 
your steps. Snatch from the archives of your state the 



134 



disorganizing edict of its convention : bid its members to 
reassemble and promulgate the decided expressions of 
your will to remain in the path which alone can conduct 
you to safety, prosperity, and honor : tell them that, com- 
pared to disunion, all other evils are light, because that 
brings with it an accumulation of all : declare that you 
will never take the field unless the star-spangled banner 
of your country shall float over you : that you will not be 
stigmatized when dead, and dishonored and scorned while 
you live, as the authors of the first attack on the constitu- 
tion of your country ! 

10. Its destroyers you cannot be. You may disturb 
its peace : you may interrupt the course of its prosperity : 
you may cloud its reputation for stability, — but its tran- 
quillity will be restored, its prosperity will return, and the 
stain upon its national character will be transferred and 
remain an eternal blot on the memory of those who caused 
the disorder. 

11. May the great Ruler of nations grant, that the 
signal blessings, with which Pie has favored ours, may not, 
by the madness of party or personal ambition, be disre- 
garded and lost ; and may His wise providence bring 
those who have produced this crisis, to see the folly, 
before they feel the misery, of civil strife ; and inspire a 
returning veneration for that Union which, if we may 
dare to penetrate His designs, He has chosen as the only 
means of attaining the high destinies, to which we may 
reasonably aspire. 



XLVL— ADVICE TO A YOUNG LAWYER. 

Judge Story. 
L. Whene'er you speak, remember every cause 

Stands not on eloquence, but stands on laws : 

Pregnant in matter, in expression brief, 

Let every sentence stand in bold relief; 

On trifling points nor time nor talents waste, 

A sad offence to learning and to taste ; 



AND ORATORY. 135 

Nor deal with pompous phrase, nor e'er suppose 
Poetic flights belong to reasoning prose. 

2. Loose declamation may deceive the crowd, 
And seem more striking as it grows more loud ; 
But sober sense rejects it with disdain, 

As nought but empty noise, and weak as vain. 
The froth of words, the schoolboy's vain parade 
Of books and cases — all his stock in trade — 
The pert conceits, the cunning tricks and play 
Of low attorneys, strung in long array, 
The unseemly jest, the petulant reply, 
That chatters on, and cares not how, or why, 
Strictly avoid — unworthy themes to scan, 
They sink the speaker and disgrace the man, 
Like the false lights, by flying shadows cast, 
Scarce seen when present and forgot when past. 

3. Begin with dignity ; expound with grace 

Each ground of reasoning in its time and place ; 

Let order reign throughout — each topic touch, 

Nor urge its power too little, nor too much ; 

Give each strong thought its most attractive view, 

In diction clear and yet severely true, 

And as the arguments in splendor grow, 

Let each reflect its light on all below ; 

When to the close arrived, make no delays 

By petty flourishes, or verbal plays, 

But sum the whole in one deep solemn strain, 

Like a strong current hastening to the main. 



XLVIL— OUR DUTIES TO THE REPUBLIC. 

Judge Story. 
1. The Old World has already revealed to us, in its 
unsealed books, the beginning and end of all its own 
marvellous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, 
lovely Greece, 

" The land of scholars and the nurse of arms," 
where Sister Republics, in fair procession, chanted the 
praises of liberty and the Gods, — where and what is she ? 
For two thousand years the oppressor has ground her to 



136 wilet's elocution 

the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of 
her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery. 
The fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the 
dust, yet beautiful in ruins. She fell not when the mighty 
were upon her. Her sons were united at Thermopylae and 
Marathon ; and the tide of her triumph rolled back upon 
the Hellespont. She was conquered by her own factions. 
She fell by the hands of her own People. 

2. The man of Macedonia did not the work of destruc- 
tion. It was already done, by her own corruptions, ban- 
ishments, and dissensions. Rome, republican Rome, 
whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun, — where 
and what is she ? The eternal city yet remains, proud 
even in her desolation, noble in her decline, venerable in 
the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of 
death. The malaria has but travelled in the paths worn 
by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have 
mourned over the loss of her empire. A mortal disease 
was upon her vitals before CaBsar had crossed the Rubicon ; 
and Brutus did not restore her health by the deep probings 
of the Senate-chamber. The Goths, and Vandals, and 
Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was 
already begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The 
Legions were bought and sold ; but the People offered the 
tribute money. 

3. We stand the latest, and, if we fail, probably the 
last experiment of self-government by the People. We 
have begun it under circumstances of the most auspicious 
nature. We are in the vigor of youth. Our growth has 
never been checked by the oppressions of tyranny. Our 
constitutions have never been enfeebled by the vices or 
luxuries of the Old World. Such as we are, we have 
been from the beginning, — simple, hardy, intelligent, ac- 
customed to self-government, and to self-respect. The 
Atlantic rolls between us and any formidable foe. Within 
our own territory, stretching through many degrees of 
latitude and longitude, we have the choice of many prod- 



AND ORATORY. 137 

ucts, and many means of independence. The Government 
is mild. The Press is free. Religion is free. Knowledge 
reaches, or may reach, every home. What fairer prospect 
of success could be presented ? What means more ade- 
quate to accomplish the sublime end ? What more is 
necessary than for the People to preserve what they have 
themselves created ? 

4. Already has the age caught the spirit of our institu- 
tions. It has already ascended the Andes, and snuffed the 
breezes of both oceans. It has infused itself into the life- 
blood of Europe, and warmed the sunny plains of France 
and the lowlands of Holland. It has touched the philoso- 
phy of Germany and the North ; and, moving onward to 
the South, has opened to Greece the lessons of her better 
days. Can it be that America, under such circumstances, 
can betray herself? Can it be that she is to be added to 
the catalogue of Republics, the inscription upon whose 
ruins is : They were, but they are not ? Forbid it, 
my countrymen ! Forbid it, Heaven ! 



XLVIIL— LOVE OF COUNTRY AND HOME. 

James Montgomery. 

1. There is a land, of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons emparadise the night ; — 
There is a spot of earth supremely blest, 

A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest, 
"Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside 
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride, 
While in his softened looks benignly blend 
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend ; — 
" Where shall that land, that spot of earth, be found ? " 
Art thou a man ? — a patriot ? — look around ! 
0, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land thy country, and that spot thy home ! 

2. On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's plains, 
In pale Siberia's desolate domains ; 



138 



When the wild hunter takes his lonely way, 
Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, 
Or, wrestling with the might of raging seas, 
Where round the Pole the eternal billows freeze, 
Plucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain 
Plunging down headlong through the whirling main ; 
His wastes of snow are lovelier in his eye 
Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky, 
And dearer far than Caesar's palace-dome, 
His cavern-shelter, and his cottage-home. 

O'er China's garden-fields and peopled floods, 

In California's pathless world of woods ; 

Pound Andes' heights, where Winter, from his throne 

Looks down in scorn upon the Summer zone ; 

Py the gay borders of Permuda's isles, 

Where Spring with everlasting verdure smiles ; 

On pure Madeira's vine-robed hills of health ; 

In Java's swamps of pestilence and wealth ; 

Where Pabel stood, where wolves and jackals drink 

'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink ; 

On Carmel's crest ; by Jordan's reverend stream, 
Where Canaan's glories vanished like a dream ; 
Where Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes' graves, 
And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ; 
Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails 
Her subject mountains and dishonored vales ; 
Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea, 
Around the beauteous isle of Liberty ; — 
Man, through all ages of revolving time, 
Unchanging man, in every varying clime, 
Deems his own land of every land the pride, 
Peloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; 
His home the spot of earth supremely blest, 
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest ! 



XLIX.— THE ISLE OF LONG AGO. 

1. 0, a wonderful stream is the river Time, 
As it runs through the realm of tears, 
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, 
And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime, 
As it blends with the Ocean of Years. 



P. F. Taylor. 



AND ORATORY. 139 

2. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, 

And the summers, like buds between ; 
And the year in the sheaf— -so they come and they go, 
On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, 

As it glides in the shadow and sheen. 

3. There 's a magical isle up the river of Time, 
. Where the softest of airs are playing ; 
There 's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, 

And the Junes with the roses are staying. 

4. And the name of that Isle is the Long Ago, 

And we bury our treasures there; 
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow — , 
There are heaps of dust — but we loved them so ! — 

There are trinkets and tresses of hair ; 

5. There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 

And a part of an infant's prayer ; 
There 's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings 
There are broken vows and pieces of rings, 

And the garments that she used to wear. 

6. There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore 

By the mirage is lifted in air ; 
And we some times hear, through the turbulent roar, 
Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, 

When the wind down the river is fair. 

7. 0, remembered for aye, be the blessed Isle, 

All the day of our life till night — 
When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, 
And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, 

May that " Greenwood" of Soul be in sight! 



L.— TIME'S MIDNIGHT VOICE. 

Edward Young. 
Creation sleeps. 'T is as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause, 
An awful pause ! prophetic of her end. 

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time, 
But from its loss. To give it, then, a tongue, 
Is wise in man, As if an angel spoke, 



140 wiley's elocution. 

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 

It is the knell of my departed hours. 

Where are they ? With the years beyond the flood ! 

It is the signal that demands despatch : 

2. How much is to be done ! My hopes and fears 
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge 
Look down — on what ? a fathomless abyss ! 

A dread eternity ! How surely mine ! 

And can eternity belong to me, 

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour ? 

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, is man ! 
How passing wonder He who made him such ! 
Who centred in our make such strange extremes 
From different natures marvellously mixed, 
Connection exquisite of distant worlds ! 

3. Distinguished link in being's endless chain ! 
Midway from nothing to the Deity ! 

A beam ethereal, sullied, and absorpt ! 
Though sullied, and dishonored, still divine 
Dim miniature of greatness absolute ! 
An heir of glory ! a frail child of dust ! 
Helpless immortal ! insect infinite ! 
A worm ! a god ! — I tremble at myself, 
And in myself am lost ! At home a stranger, 
Thought wanders up and down, surprised, aghast, 
And wondering at her own : how Reason reels ! 

4. what a miracle to man is man, 
Triumphantly distressed ! What joy, what dread 
Alternately transported, and alarmed ! 

What can preserve my life, or what destroy ? 
An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave ; 
Legions of angels can't confine me there ! 
Even silent night proclaims my soul immortal! 



LI.— THE COMMON LOT. 

James Montgomery. 
3 . Once, in the flight of ages past, 

There lived a man ; and Who was He ? 



AND ORATORY. 14:1 



Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast, 

That Man resembled Thee. 
Unknown the region of his birth, 

The land in which he died unknown: 
His name has perished from the earth; 

This truth survives alone : — 

2. That joy and grief, and hope and fear, 

Alternate triumphed in his breast ; 
His bliss and woe, — a smile, a tear ! — 

Oblivion hides the rest. 
The bounding pulse, the languid limb, 

The changing spirit's rise and fall ; 
"We know that these were felt by him, 

For these are felt by all. 

3. He suffered, — but his pangs are o'er ; 

Enjoyed, — but his delights are fled ; 
Had friends, — his friends are now no more 

And foes, — his foes are dead. 
He loved, — but whom he loved the grave 

Hath lost in its unconscious womb : 
0, she was fair ! — but naught could save 

Her beauty from the tomb. 

4. He saw whatever thou hast seen ; 

Encountered all that troubles thee : 
He was — whatever thou hast been ; 

He is — what thou shalt be. 
The rolling seasons, day and night, 

Sun, moon and stars, the earth and mair 
Erewhile his portion, life and light, 

To him exist in vain. 

5. The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye 

That once their shades and glory threw, 
Have left in yonder silent sky 

No vestige where they flew : 
The annals of the human race, 

Their ruins, since the world began, 
Of him afford no other trace 

Than this, — There lived a Man ! 



142 



LIL— THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. 

[Successfully laid between Europe aud America July 2*7, 1866.] 

Geo. Lansing Taylor. 

1. Glory to God above ! 
The Lord of life and love ! 

Who makes his curtains clouds and waters dark ; 

Who spreads his chambers on the deep, 

While all its armies silence keep, 
Whose hand of old, world-rescuing, steered the ark ; 

Who led Troy's bands exiled, 

And Genoa's god-like child, 

And Mayflower, grandly wild, 
And now has guided safe a grander bark 

Who, from her iron loins 

Has spun the thread that joins 
Two yearning worlds made one with lightning spark. 

2. Praise God ! praise God ! praise God ! 
The sea obeyed his rod, 

What time his saints marched down its deeps of yore ; 

And now for Commerce, Science, Peace, 

Redemption, Freedom, Love's increase, 

He bids great ocean's barriers cease. 
While flames celestial flash from shore to shore ! 
And nations pause 'mid battles' deadliest roar, 
Till Earth's one heart swells upward and brims o'er 

With thanks ! thanks ! thanks and praise ! 

To him who lives always ! 

Who reigns through endless days ! 
While halleluias sweet 
Roll up as incense meet, 
And all Earth's crowns are cast before his feet ! 

3. " And there was no more sea," 
Spake in rapt vision he 

Who " a new heaven and a new earth " beheld, 

And lo ! we see the day 

That ends its weltering sway, 
And weds the nations, long asunder held ! 

Ten years of toil, of failure, fear, 

Thousands to scorn and few to cheer, 

What are they now to ears that hear, 

To eyes that see their triumph near ! 



AND OEATORY. 143 

When lightning flames the ends of earth shall weld, 
And wrong and right, by lightning beams dispelled, 

Shall lift from all man's race, 

And God the Father's face 
Shall smile o'er all the world millennial grace ! 

4. Franklin ! and Mouse ! and Field ! 
Great shades of centuries yield ! 
Make way for these in your sublimest throng ! 
Heroes of blood, great in immortal wrong, 
Stoop your helmed heads and blush ! seers of song, 
Of blood and strife no longer sing ; 
In heavenlier transport smite the string, 
Soar, soar on purer, rapter wing, 
Till all the throbbing azure ring 
The song that erst began : 
" Good will and peace toward man," 
Redeemed and bought with blood, 
One mighty brotherhood ! 
And every bond that brings heart nearer heart, 
Shall bring man nearer God, and bear a part 

In that great work benign, 
The work of love, that makes all worlds divine ! 



LIII.— THE GLADIATOR. 

1. Stillness reigned in the vast amphitheater, and from 
the countless thousands that thronged the spacious in-: 
closure, not a breath was heard. Every tongue was mute 
with suspense, and every eye strained with anxiety toward 
the gloomy portal, where the gladiator was momentarily 
expected to enter. At length the trumpet sounded, and 
they led him forth into the broad arena. There was no 
mark of fear upon his manly countenance, as with majestic 
step and fearless eye he entered. He stood there, like 
another Apollo, firm and unbending as the rigid oak. His 
fine proportioned form was matchless, and his turgid 
muscles spoke his giant strength. 

2. "I am here," he cried, as his proud lip curled in 
scorn, "to glut the savage eyes of Rome's proud populace. 



144 



Aye, like a clog you throw me to a beast ; and what is ray 
offense ? Why, forsooth, I am a Christian. But know, 
ye can not fright my soul, for it is based upon a foundation 
stronger than the adamantine rock. Know ye, whose 
hearts are harder than the flinty stone, my heart quakes 
not with fear ; and here I aver, I would not change condi- 
tions with the blood-stained Nero, crowned though he be, 
not for the wealth of Rome. Blow ye your trumpet — I am 
ready." 

3. The trumpet sounded, and a long, low growl was 
heard to proceed from the cage of a half-famished Numi- 
dian Lion, situated at the farthest end of the arena. The 
growl deepened into a roar of tremendous volume, which 
shook the enormous edifice to its very center. At that 
moment, the door was thrown open, and the huge monster 
of the forest sprung from his den, with one mighty bound 
to the opposite side of the arena. His eyes blazed with the 
brilliancy of fire, as he slowly drew his length along the 
sand, and prepared to make a spring upon his formidable 
antagonist. The gladiator's eye quailed not : his lip paled 
not ; but he stood immovable as a statue, waiting the ap- 
proach of his wary foe. 

4. At length, the lion crouched himself into an attitude 
for springing, and with the quickness of lightning, leaped 
full at the throat of the gladiator. But he was prepared 
for him, and bounding lightly on one side, his falchion 
flashed for a moment over his head, and in the next it was 
deeply dyed in the purple blood of the monster. A roar 
of redoubled fury again resounded through the spacious 
amphitheater, as the enraged animal, mad with anguish 
from the wound he had just received, wheeled hastily 
round, and sprung a second time at the Nazarene, 

5. Again was the falchion of the cool and intrepid 
gladiator, deeply planted in the breast of his terrible ad- 
versary ; but so sudden had been the second attack, that it 
was impossible to avoid the full impetus of his bound, and 
he staggered and fell upon his knee. The monster's paw 



AND ORATORY. 145 

was upon his shoulder, and he felt his hot fiery breath upon 
his cheek, as it rushed through his wide distended nostrils. 
The Nazarene drew a short dagger from his girdle, and 
endeavored to regain his feet. But his foe, aware of his 
design, precipitating himself upon him, threw him with 
violence to the ground. 

6. The excitement of the populace was now wrought 
up to a high pitch, and they waited the result with breath- 
less suspense. A low growl of satisfaction now announced 
the noble animal's triumph, as he sprang fiercely upon his 
prostrate enemy. But it was of short duration ; the dagger 
of the gladiator pierced his vitals, and together they rolled 
over and over, across the broad arena. Again the dagger 
drank deep of the monster's blood, and again a roar of 
anguish reverberated through the stately edifice. 

7. The Nazarene, now watching his opportunity, sprung 
with the velocity of thought from the terrific embrace of 
his enfeebled antagonist, and regaining his falchion which 
had fallen to the ground in the struggle, he buried it deep 
in the heart of the infuriated beast. The noble king of the 
forest, faint from the loss of blood, concentrated all his 
remaining strength in one mighty bound ; but it was too 
late ; the last blow had been driven home to the center of 
life, and his huge form fell with a mighty crash upon the 
arena, amid the thundering acclamations of the populace. 



LIV.— HENRY V. AT HARFLETTR. 

Shakspeare. 
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead. 
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility ; 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage ; 
Then lend the eve a terrible aspect ; 

7 



146 



Let it pry through the portage of the head 

Like the brass cannon ; let the brow o'erwhclm it, 

As fearfully as doth a gall-ed rock 

O'crhang and jutty his confounded base, 

Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide, 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To his full hight. Now on, you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof ; 

Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, 

Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument : 

Be copy now to men of grosser blood, 

And teach them how to war ! 

And you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs are made in England, show us here 

The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 

That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not ; 

For there is none of you so mean and base 

That hath not noble luster in your eye ; 

I see you stand like gray hounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start : the game 's a-foot ; 

Follow your spirit ; and, upon this charge, 

Cry, Heaven for Harry, England, and St. George ! 



LV.— SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 

Shakspeare. 
All the world 's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players : 
They have their exits and their entrances, 
And one man in his time plays many parts, 
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 
Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, 
Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad 
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like a pard, 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon's mouth. 



AND OEATORT. 147 

2. And then, the justice, 

In fair round belly, with good capon lined, 
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 
Full of wise saws and modern instances : 
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange, eventful history, 
Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; 
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. 



LVL— PARRHASIUS. 



N. P. Willis. 



1. Parrhasius stood, gazing forgetfully 
Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, 
Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, 
The vulture at his vitals, and the links 

Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; 
And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, 
Eapt mystery, and plucked the shadows forth 
With his far-reaching fancy, and with form 
And color clad them, his fine, earnest eye 
Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl 
Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, 
Were like the winged god's breathing from his flight. 

2. " Bring me the captive now ! 

My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift 
From my waked spirit airily and swift ; 

And I could paint the bow 
Upon the bended heavens ; around me play 
Colors of such divinity to-day. 

3. " Ha ! bind him on his back ! 
Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here ! 
Quick ! or he faints ! stand with the cordial near ! 

Now, bend him to the rack ! 

* Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! 

And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 



148 



4. " So ! let him writhe ! How long 

Will lie live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now ! 
What a fine agony works upon his brow ! 

Ha ! gray-haired, and so strong ! 
How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! 
Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 

5. " ' Pity ' thee ? So I do ; 

I pity the dumb victim at the altar ; 

But does the robed priest for his pity falter ? 

I'd rack thee, though I knew 
A thousand lives were perishing in thine ; 
What were ten thousand to a fame like mine ? 

6. " Ah ! there's a deathless name ! 

A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, 
And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn ; 

And though its crown of flame 
Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me ; 
By all the fiery stars ! I'd pluck it on me ! 

7. " Ay, though it bid me rifle 

My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst ; 
Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first ; 

Though it should bid me stifle 
The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, 
And taunt its mother till my brain went wild ! 

8. " All ! I would do it all, 

Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot ; 
Thrust foully in the earth to be forgot. 

Oh heavens ! but I appall 
Your heart, old man ! forgive — ha ! on your lives 
Let him not faint ! rack him till he revives ! 

9. " Vain — vain — give o'er. His eye 
Glazes apace. He does not feel you now. 

Stand back ! I'll paint the death dew on his brow ! 

Gods ! if he do not die 
But for one moment — one — till I eclipse 
Conception with the scorn of those calm lips ! 

10. " Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters 

Brokenly now ; that was a difficult breath ; 
Another ? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death ? 
Look ! how his temple flutters ! 



AND ORATORY. 149 

Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! 

He shudders — gasps — Jove help him — so, he's dead ! " 

11. How like a mountain devil in the heart 
Eules this unreined ambition ! Let it once 
But play the monarch, and its haughty brow- 
Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought 
And unthrones peace forever. Putting on 
The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns 
The heart to ashes, and with not a spring 
Left in the desert for the spirit's lip, 
We look upon our splendor, and forget 
The thirst of which we perish ! 



LYIL— THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. 

G. W. Patten. 

1. Blaze, with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ; 
The shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! 
I've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low ; 
And where it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow. 
I've scared you in the city : I've scalped you on the plain : 

Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain ! 

I scorn your proffered treaty : the pale-face I defy : 

Eevenge is stamped upon my spear, and " blood " my battle-cry ! 

2. Some strike for hope of booty ; some to defend their all : — 
I battle for the joy I have to see the white man fall. 

I love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan, 

And catch, while chanting at his side, the music of his groan. 

Ye've trailed me through the forest : ye've tracked me o'er the stream ; 

And struggling through the everglade your bristling bayonets gleam. 

But I stand as should the warrior, with his rifle and his spear : 

The scalp of vengeance still is red, and warns you — " Come not here ! " 

3. Think ye to find my homestead ? — I gave it to the fire. 
My tawny household do ye seek ? — I am a childless sire. 

But, should ye crave life's nourishment, enough I have, and good : 

I live on hate — 'tis all my bread ; yet light is not my food. 

I loathe you with my bosom ! I scorn you with mine eye ! 

And I'll taunt you with my latest breath, and fight you till I die ! 

I ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave ; 

But I'll swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath the wave ! 



150 



LVIII.— UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE, May 20, 1850. 

Victor Hugo. 

1. Universal suffrage ! — what is it but the overthrow 
of violence and brute force — the end of the material and 
the beginning of the moral fact ? What was the Revolu- 
tion of February intended to establish in France, if not 
this ? And now it is proposed to abolish this sacred right ! 
And what is its abolition, but the remtroduction of the 
right of insurrection ? Ye Ministers and men of State, 
who govern, wherefore do you venture on this mad at- 
tempt ? I will tell you. It is because, the People have 
deemed worthy of their votes men whom you judge 
worthy of your insults ! It is because the People have 
presumed to compare your promises with your acts ; 
because they do not find your Administration altogether 
sublime ; because they have dared peaceably to instruct 
you through the ballot-box ! 

2. Therefore it is, that your anger is roused, and that, 
under the pretence that Society is in peril, you seek to 
chastise the People, — to take them in hand ! And so, like 
that maniac of whom History tells, you beat the ocean 
with rods ! And so you launch at us your poor little laws, 
furious but feeble ! And so you defy the spirit of the 
age, defy the good sense of the public, defy the Demo- 
cracy, and tear your unfortunate finger-nails ngainst the 
granite of universal suffrage ! 

Go on, Gentlemen ! Proceed ! Disfranchise, if you 
will, three millions of voters, four millions, nay, eight 
millions out of nine ! Get rid of all these ! It will not 
matter. What you cannot get rid of is your own fatal 
incapacity and ignorance ; your own antipathy for the 
mind, which was named John Huss, and which did not die 
on the funeral-pile of Constance ; which was named Lu- 
ther, and shook orthodoxy to its centre ; which was named 
Voltaire, and shook faith ; which was named Mirabeau, 
and shook royalty. 

3. It is the human mind, which, since history began, 



AND ORATOJSY. 151 

lias transformed societies and governments according to a 
law progressively acceptable to the reason, — which has 
been theocracy, aristocracy, monarchy, and which is to-day 
democracy. It is the human mind, which has been Baby- 
lon, Tyre, Jerusalem, Athens, and which to-day is Paris ; 
which has been, turn by turn, and sometimes all at once, 
error, illusion, schism, protestation, truth ; it is the human 
mind, which is the great pastor of the generations, and 
which, in short, has always marched towards the Just, the 
Beautiful, and the True, enlightening multitudes, elevating 
life, raising more and more the head of the People to- 
wards the Right, and the head of the individual towards 
God! 

4. And now I address myself to the alarm party, — not 
in this Chamber, but wherever they may be, throughout 
Europe, — and I say to them: "Consider well what you 
would do ; reflect on the task that you have undertaken ; 
and measure it well before you commence. Suppose you 
should succeed : when you have destroyed the Press, there 
will remain something more to destroy, — Paris ! When 
you have destroyed Paris, there will remain France. 
When you have destroyed France, there will remain the 
human mind." I repeat it, let this, great European alarm 
party measure the immensity of the task which, in their 
heroism, they would attempt. Though they annihilate the 
Press to the last journal, Paris to the last pavement, 
France to the "last hamlet, they will have done nothing. 
There will remain yet for them to destroy something 
always paramount, above the generations, and, as it were, 
between man and his Maker ; — something that has written 
all the books, invented all the arts, discovered all the 
worlds, founded all the civilizations ; — something which 
will always grasp, under the form of Revolutions, what is 
not yielded under the form of progress ; — something 
which is itself unseizable as the light, and unapproachable 
as the sun, — and which calls itself the human mind ! 



152 



LIX.— DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. 

James Shirley. 

1. The glories of our blood and state 

Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
There is no armor against Fate ; 
Death lays his icy hand on Kings I 
Sceptre, Crown, 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 

2. Some men with swords may reap the field, 

And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
But their strong nerves at last must yield, — 
They tame but one another still. 
Early or late, 
They stoop to Fate, 
And must give up their conquering breath, 
When they, pale captives, creep to Death. 

3. The garlands wither on your brow ! — 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds : 
Upon Death's purple altar now 

See where the victor-victim bleeds ! 
All heads must come 
To the cold tomb : 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. 



LX— GENERAL GRANT TO THE ARMY.— 1865. 

U. S. Grant. 
1. Soldiers of the Armies of the United States ! By 
your patriotic devotion to your country in the hour of 
danger and alarm, your magnificent fighting, bravery, and 
endurance, you have maintained the supremacy of the 
Union and the Constitution, overthrown all armed opposi- 
tion to the enforcement of the laws, and of the proclama- 
tions forever abolishing Slavery — the cause and pretext 
of the Rebellion — and opened the way to the rightful 
authorities, to restore order and inaugurate peace on a 



AND ORATORY. 153 

permanent and enduring basis on every foot of American 
soil. Your marches, sieges, and battles, in distance, dura- 
tion, resolution, and brilliancy of results, dim the luster 
of the world's past military achievements, and will be the 
patriot's precedent in defence of Liberty and the right in 
all time to come. In obedience to your country's call, you 
left your homes and families and volunteered in its de- 
fence. 

2. Victory has crowned your valor and secured the 
purpose of your patriotic hearts ; and with the gratitude 
of your countrymen and the highest honors a great and 
free nation can accord, you will soon be permitted to 
return to your homes and families, conscious of having 
discharged the highest duty of American citizens. To 
achieve these glorious triumphs, and to secure to your- 
selves, your countrymen, and posterity the blessings of 
free institutions, tens of thousands of your gallant com- 
rades have fallen and sealed the priceless legacy with their 
lives. The graves of these a grateful nation bedews with 
tears, honors their memories, and will ever cherish and 
support their stricken families. 



LXL— HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION" OF A FOP. 

Shakspeake. 
My liege, I did deny no prisoners. 
But I remember, when the fight was done, 
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, 
Breathless, and faint, leaning upon my sword, 
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, 
Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped, 
Showed like stubble-land at harvest home. 

He was perfumed like a milliner ; 
And, twixt his finger and his thjimb, he held 
A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, 
He gave his nose. And still he smiled, and talked, 
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, 
He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
>-* 



154 



To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse 
Betwixt the wind and his nobility. 

3. With many holiday and lady terms, 

He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded 

My prisoners, in her majesty's behalf; 

I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled 

To be so pestered with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answered negligently — I know not what — 

He should, or should not ; for he made me mad, 

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds — heaven save the mark- 

And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth, 

Was spermaceti — for an inward bruise : 

4. And that it was great pity — so it was — 
That villanous saltpeter should be digged 
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, 
Which many a good, tall fellow had destroyed 
So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, 
He would himself have been a soldier. 

5. This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, 
I answered indirectly, asl said ; 

And I beseech you, let not his report 
Come current, for an accusation, 
Betwixt my love, and your high majesty. 



LXII.— THE GAMBLER'S WIFE. 

1. Dark is the night ! how dark — no light — no fire ! 
Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire ! 
Shivering she watches by the cradle side, 

For him who pledged her love — last year a bride ! 

2. " Hark ! 'tis his footstep ! No — 'tis past : 'tis gone : 
Tick ! — Tick ! — How wearily the time crawls on ! 
Why should he leave me thus ? He once was kind ! 
And I believed 'twould last — how mad ! — how blind ! 

3. " Rest thee, my babe ! — rest on ! — 'tis hunger's cry I 
Sleep ! — for there is no food ! the fount is dry ! 



Coates. 



AND ORATORY. 155 

Famine and cold their wearying work have done, 

My heart must break ! — and thou ! " The clock strikes one. 

4. " Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes, he's there, he's there, 
For this ! for this he leaves me to despair ! 

Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his child ! for what ? 
The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot ! 

5. " Yet I'll not curse him ! No ! 'tis all in vain ! 
'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again ! 
And I could starve and bless him, but for you, 

My child ! — his child ! — fiend ! " The clock strikes two. 

6. " Hark ! how the sign-board creaks ! The blast howls by ! 
Moan ! moan ! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky ! 
Ha ! 'tis his knock ! lie comes ! — he comes once more ! 
'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er. 

7. " Can he desert me thus ? He knows I stay 
Night after night in loneliness to pray 

For his return — and yet he sees no tear ! 
No ! no ! it cannot be. He will be here. 

8. " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! 
Thou'rt cold ! thou'rt freezing ! But we will not part. 
Husband ! — I die ! — Father ! — It is not he ! 

Oh God ! protect my child ! " The clock strikes three. 

9. They're gone ! they're gone ! the glimmering spark hath fled. 
The wife and child are numbered with the dead ! 

On the cold hearth, out-stretched in solemn rest, 
The child lies frozen on its mother's breast ! 
The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — 
Dead silence reigned around — The clock struck four ! 



LXIIL— CASSIUS AGAINST CESAR. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 

1. Honor is the subject of my story, 
I cannot tell what you, and other men, 
Think of tins life ; but for my single self, 
I had as lief not be, as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I, myself. 
I was born as free as Caesar ; so were you ; 
We have both fed as well ; and we can both 
Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 



156 wiley's elocution 

2. For, once upon a raw and gusty day, 

The troubled Tiber chafing with its shores, 

Caesar says to me — " Darest thou, Cassius, now 

Leap in with me, into this angry flood, 

And swim to yonder point ? " — Upon the word, 

Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow ; so, indeed he did. 

The torrent roared, and we did buffet it ; 

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, 

And stemming it, with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried — " Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 

3. I, as iEneas, our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder 

The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Caesar ; and this man 

Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 

A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 

If Caesar carelessly but nod to him. 

4. He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
And when the fit was on him, I did mark 

How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake ; 

His coward lips did from their color fly ; 

And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 

Did lose its luster ; I did hear him groan, 

Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 

" Alas ! " it cried — " Give me some drink, Titinius." 

5. Ye gods ! it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 

So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. 

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, 

Like a Colossus, and we, petty men, 

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about, 

To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 

6. Men, at some time, are masters of their fates : 
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
But in ourselves, that Ave are underlings. 

Brutus and Csesar ! What should be in that Caesar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 



AND OKATORY. 157 

Write them together : yours is as fair a name ; 
Sound them : it doth become the mouth as well ; 
Weigh them : it is as heavy : conjure with 'em : 
Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 

*7. Now, in the name of all the gods at once, 
Upon what meats doth this our Csesar feed, 
That he hath grown so great ? Age, thou art ashamed ; 
Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. 
When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, 
That her wide walls encompassed but one ma^n ? 
Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked 
The infernal devil, to keep his state in Rome, 
As easily as a king. 



LXIV.— RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. 

Miss Mitford. 
I. I come not here to talk. You know too well 

The story of our thralldom. We are slaves ! 

The bright sun rises to his course and lights 

A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beams 

Fall on a slave ; not such as, swept along 

By the full tide of power, the conqueror led 

To crimson glory and undying fame : 

But base, ignoble slaves ; slaves to a horde 

Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, 

Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; 

Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great 

In that strange spell — a name. 

5. Each hour, dark fraud, 

Or open rapine, or protected murder, 

Cry out against them. But this very day 

An honest man, my neighbor— there he stands — 

Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore 

The badge of Ursini ; because, forsooth, 

He tossed not high his ready cap in air, 

Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, 

At sight of that great ruffian ! Be we men, 



158 wiley's elocution 

And suffer such dishonor? men, and wash not 

The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common : 

I have known deeper wrongs ; I, that speak to ye. 

I had a brother once — a gracious boy, 

Full of gentleness, of calmest hope, 

Of sweet and quiet joy : there was the look 

Of heaven upon his face, which limners give 

To the beloved disciple. 

3. How I loved 

That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, 

Brother at once, and son ! He left my side, 

A summer bloom on his fair cheek, a smile 

Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour, 

That pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw 

The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried 

For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! 

Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl 

To see them die. Have ye fair daughters ? Look 

To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, 

Dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, 

Be answered by the lash ! 

4. Yet this is Rome, 

That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne 
Of beauty, ruled the world ! Yet we are Romans ! 
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman, 
Was greater than a king ! and once again — 
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread 
Of either Brutus ! once again, I swear, 
The eternal city shall be free. 



LXY.— THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. 



DlMOND. 



1. In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay ; 

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ; 
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, 
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 

2. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, 

And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; 
While memory stood sidewise, half-covered with flowers, 
And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 



AND ORATORY. 159 

3. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, 

And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise — 
Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, 
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 

4. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, 

And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall : 
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, 
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 

5. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, 

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear, 
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite 

With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 

6. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, 

Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er, 
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest — 
" Oh God thou hast blest me — I ask for no more." 

V. Ah ! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye ? 
Ah ! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear ? 
'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky ! 
'Tis the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere ! 

8. He springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck : 

Amazement confronts him with images dire — 
"Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck — 
The masts fly in splinters — the shrouds are on fire ! 

9. Like mountains the billows tremendously swell — 

In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save : 
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, 

And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave ! 

10. Oh ! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight ! 

In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss — 
Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, 
Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss ? 

11. Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! never again 

Shall home, love, or' kindred, thy wishes repay : 
Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, 
Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 

12. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 

Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge : 
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 



160 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

13. On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid ; 

Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; 
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, 
And every part suit to thy mansion below. 

14. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, 

And still the vast waters above thee shall roll : 
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye — 

Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul. 



LXVL— BERXARDO DEL CARPIO. 

Mrs. Hem an s. 

1. The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, 
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire : 

" I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, 

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — ! break my father's chain ! " 

2. " Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day ! 
Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way." 
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, 

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. 

3. And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, 
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land : 

" Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in very truth, is he, 
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." 

4. Ilis dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came 

and went : 
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismounting, 

bent ; 
A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — 
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook ? 

5. That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it dropped from his like lead ! • 
He looked up to the face above — the face was of the dead ! 

A plume waved o'er the noble brow — the brow was fixed and white ; 
He met, at last, his father's eyes — but in them was no sight ! 

6. Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; but who could paint that 

gaze ? 
They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze — 
They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood ; 
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 



AND ORATORY. 161 

7. " Father ! " at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then : 
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! 

He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown — 
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 

8. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, 
" No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now : 
My king is false — my hope betrayed ! My father — ! the worth, 
The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! 

9. " I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet ! 
I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met ! 
Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then — for thee my fields were won ; 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son ! " 

10. Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, 
Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; 

And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, 
And sternly set them face to face — the king before the dead : 

11. " Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss ? 
Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this ? 
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought — give answer, where are they ? 
If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold 

clay ! 

12. " Into these glassy eyes put light — be still ! keep down thine ire ! 
Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire : 
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed ? 
Thou canst not? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy head ! " 

13. He loosed the steed — his slack hand fell — upon the silent face 

He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place : 
His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain — 
His banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain. 



LXYII.— ORATION AGAINST YEERES. 

ClCEEO. 

1. I ask now, Verres, what have you to advance 
against this charge ? Will yon pretend to deny it ? Will 
yon pretend that any thing false, that even any thing 
exaggerated is alleged against you? Had any prince, or 
any state, committed the same outrage against the privi- 
leges of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sum- 



162 wiley's elocution 

cient reason for declaring immediate war against them? 
What punishment, then, ought to be inflicted on a tyran- 
nical and wicked pretor, who dared, at no greater distance 
than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the 
infamous death of crucifixion that unfortunate and inno- 
cent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having 
asserted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his in- 
tention of appealing to the justice of his country against 
a cruel oppressor, who had unjustly confined him in prison 
at Syracuse, whence he had just made his escape ? The 
unhappy man, arrested as he was going to embark for his 
native country, is brought before the wicked pretor. 
With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with 
cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be 
stripped, and rods to be brought : accusing him, but with- 
out the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of 
having come to Sicily as a spy. 

2. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, " I 
am a Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius Pretius, 
who is now at Panormus, and will attest my innocence." 
The bloodthirsty pretor, deaf to all he could urge in his 
own defence, ordered the infamous punishment to be in- 
flicted. Thus, fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen 
publicly mangled with scourging ; while the only words 
he uttered amid his cruel sufferings were, " I am a Roman 
citizen ! " With these he hoped to defend himself from 
violence and infamy. But of so little service was this 
privilege to him, that while he was asserting his citizen- 
ship, the order was given for his execution — for his execu- 
tion upon the cross ! 

3. O liberty ! O sound once delightful to every Roman 
ear ! O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once 
sacred, now trampled upon ! But what then — is it come 
to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who 
holds his power of the Roman people, in a Roman prov- 
ince, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire 
and red-hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous 



AND ORATORY. 163 

death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? Shall neither the 
cries of iDnocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of 
pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman common- 
wealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain 
the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in 
confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and 
sets mankind at defiance ? 



LXVIIL— FKOM THE FIRST ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. 

Cicero. 

1. How far wilt thou, O Catiline, abuse our patience ? 
How long shall thy madness outbrave our justice ? To 
what extremities art thou resolved to push thy unbridled 
insolence of guilt ? Canst thou behold the nocturnal arms 
that watch the palatium : the guards of the city : the con- 
sternation of the citizens; all the wise and worthy cluster- 
ing into consultation ; this impregnable situation of the 
seat of the senate, and the reproachful looks of the fathers 
of Rome ? Canst thou, I say, behold all this, and yet 
remain undaunted and unabashed ? Art thou sensible 
that thy measures are detected ? 

2. Art thou sensible that this senate, now thoroughly 
informed, comprehends the full extent of thy guilt ? Point 
me out the Senator ignorant of thy practices, during the 
last and the preceding night ; of the place where you met, 
the company you summoned, and the crime you concerted. 
The senate is conscious, the consul is witness to this : yet 
mean and degenerate — the traitor lives ! Lives ! did I 
say ? He mixes with the senate : he shares in our coun- 
sels : with a steady eye he surveys us : he anticipates his 
guilt : he enjoys his murderous thoughts, and coolly marks 
us out for bloodshed. Yet we, boldly passive in our 
country's cause, think we act like Romans if we can escape 
his frantic rage. 

3. Long since, O Catiline ! ought the consul to have 
doomed thy life a forfeit to thy country ; and to have 



164 

directed upon thy own head the mischief thou hast long 
been meditating for ours. Could the noble Scipio, when 
sovereign pontiff, as a private Roman kill Tiberius Grac- 
chus for a slight encroachment upon the rights of this 
country; and shall we, her consuls, with persevering pa- 
tience endure Catiline, whose ambition is to desolate a 
devoted world with fire and sword ? 

4. There was — there was a time, when such was the 
spirit of Rome, that the resentment of her magnanimous 
sons more sternly crushed the Roman traitor, than the 
most inveterate enemy. Strong and weighty, O Catiline ! 
is the decree of the senate we can now produce against 
you ; neither Avisdom is wanting in this state, nor author- 
ity in this assembly ; but we, the consuls, we are defective 
in our duty. 



LXIX.— DEGENERACY OF ATHENS. 

Demosthenes. 
1. Such, O men of Athens ! were your ancestors : so 
glorious in the eye of the world ; so bountiful and munifi- 
cent to their country ; so sparing, so modest, so self-deny- 
ing, to themselves. What resemblance can we find, in the 
present generation, to these great men ? At the time 
when your ancient competitors have left you a clear stage, 
when the Lacedemonians are disabled, the Thebans em- 
ployed in troubles of their own, when no other state what- 
ever is in a condition to rival or molest you — in short, 
when you are at full liberty, when you have the oppor- 
tunity and the power to become once more the sole arbi- 
ters of Greece — you permit, patiently, whole provinces to 
be wrested from you : you lavish the public money in 
scandalous and obscure uses : you suffer your allies to 
perish in time of peace, whom you preserved in time of 
war ; and, to sum up all, you yourselves, by your merce- 
nary court, and servile resignation to the will and pleasure 
of designing, insidious leaders, abet, encourage, and 



AND ORATORY. 165 

strengthen, the most dangerous and formidable of your 
enemies. Yes, Athenians, I repeat it, you yourselves are 
the contrivers of your own ruin. 

2. Lives there a man who has confidence enough to 
deny it ? Let him arise and assign, if he can, any other 
cause of the success and prosperity of Philip. " But," 
you reply, " what Athens may have lost in reputation 
abroad she has gained in splendor at home. Was there 
ever a greater appearance of prosperity and plenty? Is 
not the city enlarged ? Are not the streets better paved, 
houses repaired and beautified ? " Away with such trifles ! 
Shall I be paid with counters ? An old square new vamped 
up ! a fountain ! an aqueduct ! Are these acquisitions to 
boast of? Cast your eyes upon the magistrate under 
whose ministry you boast these precious improvements. 
Behold the despicable creature, raised all at once from dirt 
to opulence, from the lowest obscurity to the highest 
honors. Have not some of these upstarts built private 
houses and seats vying with the most sumptuous of our 
public palaces? And how have their fortunes and their 
power increased, but as the commonwealth has been ruined 
and impoverished ? 



LXX— TELL ME, YE WINGED WINDS. 

Charles Mackay. 

1. Tell me, ye winged winds, 
That round my pathway roar, 
Do you not know some spot 
Where mortals weep no more ? 
Some lone and pleasant dell, 
Some valley in the west, 
Where, free from toil and pain, 
The weary soul may rest ? 

The loud wind softened to a whisper low, 
And sighed for pity as it whispered — " No ! " 

2. Tell me, thou mighty deep, 
Whose billows round me play, 



166 



Know'st thou some favored spot, 

Some island far away, 

Where weary man may find 

The bliss for which he sighs, 

Where sorrow never lives 

And friendship never dies ? 
The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow, 
Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer — " No ! " 

3. And thou, serenest moon, 
That with such holy face 
Dost look upon the earth, 
Asleep in night's embrace, 
Tell me, in all thy round, 
Hast thou not seen some spot, 
Where miserable man 
Might find a happier lot ? 

Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, 
And a voice sweet, but sad, responded — " No ! " 

4. Tell me, my secret soul, 

! tell me, Hope and Faith, 

Is there no resting-place 

From sorrow, sin, and death ? 

Is there no happy spot, 

Where mortals may be blest, 

Where grief may find a balm, 

And weariness a rest ? 
Faith, Hope, and Love — best boons to mortals given — 
Waved their bright wings, and whispered — " Yes ! in heaven ! " 



LXXL— SPEECH OF PATEICK HENRY. 

Patrick Henry. 

1. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided ; 
and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way 
of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging 
by the past, I wish to know what there has been, in the 
conduct of the British ministry, for the last ten years, to 
justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been 
pleased to solace themselves, and the house ? Is it that 
insidious smile with which our petition has been lately 



AND ORATORY. 167 

received ? Trust it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your 
feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. 
Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition 
comports with those warlike preparations which cover our 
waters, and darken our land. Are fleets and armies 
necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ? Have we 
shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force 
must be called in to win back our love ? 

2. Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the 
implements of war and subjugation — the last arguments to 
which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means 
this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to 
submission ? Can gentlemen assign any other possible 
motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this 
quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of 
navies and armies ? ISTo, sir, she has none. They are 
meant for us : they can be meant for no other. They are 
sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the 
British ministry have been so long forging. And what 
have we to oppose to them ? Shall we try argument ? 
Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have 
we any thing new to offer upon the subject ? Nothing. 

3. We have held the subject up in every light of which 
it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort 
to entreaty and humble supplication ? What terms shall 
we find which have not been already exhausted ? Let us 
not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we 
have done every thing that could be done to avert the 
storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned : we 
have remonstrated : we have supplicated : we have pros- 
trated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its 
interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry 
and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted : our 
remonstrances have produced additional violence and 
insult : our supplications have been disregarded, and we 
have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the 
throne. 



168 



4. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond 
hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any 
room for hope. If we wish to be free ; if we mean to 
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which 
we have been so long contending ; if we mean not basely 
to abandon the noble struggle, in which we have been so 
long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never 
to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall 
be obtained, we must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must 
fight ! 

5. An appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all 
that is left us. They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable 
to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall 
we be stronger ? Will it be the next week or the next 
year ? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and 
when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ? 
Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? 
Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying 
supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom 
of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and 
foot? 

6. Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of 
those means which the God of nature hath placed in our 
power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause 
of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, 
are invincible by any force which our enemy can send 
against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. 
There is a just God who presides over the destinies of na- 
tions, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for 
us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone, it is to the 
vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no 
election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now 
too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but 
in submission and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their 
clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war 
is inevitable, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! 

7. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen 



AND ORATORY. 169 

may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war is 
actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the North 
will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our 
brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here 
idle ! What is it that gentlemen wish ? what would they 
have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be pur- 
chased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it, Al- 
mighty God ! I know not what course others may take, 
but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! 



LXXIL— CATILINE'S LAST HARANGUE TO HIS ARMY. 

Cf.oly. 

1. Brave comrades! all is ruined ! I disdain 

To hide the truth from you. The die is thrown ! 
And now, let each that wishes for long life 
Put up his sword, and kneel for peace to Rome. 
Ye are all free to go. — What ! no man stirs ! 
Not one ! — a soldier's spirit in you all ? 
Give me your hands ! (This moisture in my eyes 
Is womanish — 'twill pass.) My noble hearts ! 
Well have you chosen to die ! For, in my mind, 
The grave is fetter than o'erburthened life; — 
Better the quick release of glorious wounds, 
Than the eternal taunts of galling tongues ; — 
Better the spear-head quivering in the heart, 
Than daily struggle against Fortune's curse ; — 

2. Better, in manhood's muscle and high blood, 
To leap the gulf, than totter to its edge 

In poverty, dull pain, and base decay. 

Once more, I say, — are ye resolved ? 

Then, each man to his tent, and take the arms 

That he would love to die in,— -for, this hour, 

We storm the Consul's camp. — A last farewell ! 

When nest we meet, we '11 have no time to look, 

How parting clouds a soldier's countenance : 

Few as we are, we '11 rouse them with a peal 

That shall shake Rome ! 

Now to your cohorts' heads, — the word's — Revenge. 

8 



170 wiley's elocution 



LXXIII.-TIIE AMERICAN FLAG. 

J. It. Drake. 

1. When Freedom, from her mountain height, 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there. 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure celestial white, 
With streakings of the morning light ; 
Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. 

2. Majestic monarch of the cloud, 

Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, 
To hear the tempest trumpings loud 

And see the lightning lances driven, 
When strive the warriors of the storm, 

And rolls the thunder-drum of Heaven, — 
Child of the Sun ! to thee 'tis given 

To guard the banner of the free : 
To hover in the sulphur smoke : 
To ward away the battle-stroke ; 
And bid its blendings shine afar, 
Like rainbows on the cloud of war, 

The harbingers of victory ! 

3. Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly, 
The sign of hope and triumph high. 
When speaks the signal trumpet tone, 
And the long line comes gleaming on, — 
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, 
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, — 
Each soldier's eye shall brightly turn 
To where thy sky-born glories burn ; 
And, as his springing steps advance, 
Catch war and vengeance from the glance. 
And, when the cannon-mouthmgs loud 
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud, 
And gory sabres rise and fall 

Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall, 



AND ORATORY. 171 

Then shall thy meteor glances glow, 

And cowerirjg foes shall fall beneath 
Each gallant arm that strikes below 

That lovely messenger of death. 

Flag of the seas ! on ocean's wave 
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave. 
When Death, careering on the gale, 
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, 
And frighted waves rush wildly back, 
Before the broadside's reeling rack, 
Each dying wanderer of the sea 
Shall look at once to Heaven and thee ; 
And smile to see thy splendors fly, 
In triumph, o'er his closing eye. 

Flag of the free heart's hope and home ! 

By angel hands to Yalor given ! 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in Heaven. 
Forever float that standard sheet ! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming; o'er us ? 



LXXIY.— BURIAL OF SIR JOHN" MOORE, 1809. 

Rev. Charles Wolfe. 

1. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 

As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 

O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning; 
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

2, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him ; 
But he lay, like a warrior taking his rest, 

With his martial cloak around him. 
Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. „ 



172 



We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow ! 
Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he, '11 reck, if they let him sleep on, 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him ! 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring, 
And we heard by th' distant and random gun, 

That the foe was sullenly firing. 
Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory ! 
We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 

But we left him — alone with his glory ! 



LXXV.— THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN, 1800. 

Thomas Campbell. 

1. On Linden when the sun was low, 
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, 
And dark as winter was the flow 

Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 

2. But Linden saw another sight, 
When the drum beat at dead of night, 
Commanding fires of death to light 

The darkness of her scenery. 

3. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, 
Each warrior drew his battle-blade, 
And furious every charger neighed, 

To join the dreadful revelry. 

4. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, 
Then rushed the steeds to battle driven, 
And louder than the bolts of Heaven 

Far flashed the red artillery. 

5. And redder yet those fires shall glow 
On Linden's hills of blood-stained snow, 

And darker yet shall be the flow 
• Of Iser rolling rapidly. 



AND ORATORY. 173 

'T is morn ; but scarce yon lurid sun 
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, 
"While furious Frank and fiery Hun 

Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
The combat deepens. On, ye brave 
Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
"Wave, Munich, all tby banners wave ! 

And charge with all thy chivalry ! 
Ah ! few shall part where many meet, 
The snow shall be their winding-sheet. 
And every turf beneath their feet 

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 



LXXYL— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 

1. — November. 

"W. C. Bryant. 

Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun ! 

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air, 
Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run, 

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare. 
One smile on the brown hills and naked trees, 

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast, 
And the blue gentian flower, that in the breeze 

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last. 
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee 

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way, 
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, 

And man delight to linger in thy ray. 
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear 
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air. 

2. — The Constitution. 

Yf. C. Bryant. 
1. Great were the thoughts, and strong the minds 
Of those who framed in high debate, 
The immortal league of love, that binds 

Our fair broad Empire, State with State. 
And deep the gladness of the hour, 

Yfhen as the auspicious task was done, 
In solemn trust, the sword of power, 
Was given to glory's spotless son. 



174 



The noble race is gone — the suns 

Of sixty years have risen and set; 
But the bright links, those chosen ones, 

So strongly forged, are brighter yet. 
Wide as our own free race increase — 

Wide shall extend the elastic chain, 
And bind in everlasting peace, 

State after State, — a mighty train. 

3. — The Avenger of Slander. 

From Victor Hugo. 
" Sire, at your hands 
I had the right to claim all meet respect 
That majesty to majesty accords : 
You are the king ! — I am — a father ! 
The eminence of years o'ertops a throne. 
Upon your brows and mine, as well, 
There rests a crown ! — a crown 
To which no eye of insult dare be raised. 
The golden Jleur-de-Us your diadem, 
And mine, the silvery locks of age. 
King, when the sacrilegious hand 
On yours is laid, from you the quick, 
Terrible redress ! 

But when dishonor smites the coronet 
That Time has hallowed on a father's head, 
God is the avenger ! " 

4. — The Press. 

Adaptation from Ebenezer Elliot. 

1. God said — " Let there be light ! " 
Grim darkness felt His might, 

And fled away : 
Then startled seas and mountains cold 
Shone forth, all bright in blue and gold, 

And cried — " 'T is day ! 't is day ! " 

2. " Hail, holy light ! " exclaimed 
The thunderous cloud that flamed 

O'er daisies white ; 
And lo ! the rose, in crimson dressed, 
Leaned sweetly on the lily's breast, 

And, blushing, murmured — "Light." 



AND ORATORY. 175 

3. Then was the skylark born ; 
Then rose the embattled corn ; 

Then floods of praise 
Flowed o'er the sunny hills of noon ; 
And then, in stillest night, the moon 

Poured forth her pensive rays. 

4. Lo, Heaven's bright bow is glad ! 
Lo, trees and flowers, all clad 

In glory, bloom ! 
And shall the immortal sons of God 
Be senseless as the trodden clod, 

And darker than the tomb ? 

5. No, by the mind of man ! 
By the swart artisan I 

We will aspire ! 
Our souls have holy light within, 
And every form of grief and sin 

Shall see and feel its fire. 

6. By all we hope of Heaven, 
The shroud of souls is riven ! 

Mind, mind alone 
Is light, and hope, and life, and power ! 
Earth's deepest night, from this blessed hour, — 

The night of mind, — is gone ! 

V. " The Press ! " all lands shall sing : 
The Press, the Press we bring, 
All lands to bless. 
0, pallid Want ! 0, Labor stark ! 
Behold ! we bring the second ark ! 

The Press, the Press, the Press ! 

-Thoughts of a Schoolmate — once loved. 

1. I thought of thee when the spring sent forth 

Fresh grass and sweet wild flowers, 
And the green leaves gave their shelter out 

To form the young year's bowers. 
And my thoughts of thee resembled then 

The breath of the fragrant breeze, 
That wafted o'er meadows cool and green, 

And soft through the new-clad trees. 



176 



2. I thought of thee in the summer time, 

When the sun sent forth its heat, 
To ripen the orchard's rosy fruit, 

And the golden ears of wheat. 
And my thought of thee was like the glow 

Of the warmth that parched the land : 
It beamed as the eastern sunshine beams 

On desert plains of sand. 

3. I thought of thee when the autumn wind 

Swept wildly o'er hill and vale, 
And russet leaves were carried away 

On the breath of the drifting gale. 
And my thought of Ihee grew wilder then, 

As wild as the moaning blast, 
That seemed to tell with every sob 

Of dead hopes rushing past. 

4. And now I think in the dim nights lone, 

When the stars shed out no glow, 
And o'er rock and hill, and deep dark sea, 

The winter fog hangs low. 
And sad, oh, sad ! is my thought of thee, 

As I ponder o'er and o'er, 
On the many seasons lost in the shade 

Of a past that returns no more ! 

0. — The Love of Country. 

Sir Walter Scott. 
1 . Breathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 
" This is my own, my native land " ? 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 
From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ! 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim : 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch, concentred all in self 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 



and oeatory. 177 

I.—Ewvy. 

1. Eyeky thiDg contains within itself 

The seeds and sources of its own corruption : 
The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel : 
The moth frets out your garment, and the worm 
Eats its slow way into the solid oak ; 
But envy, of all evil things the worst, 
The same to-day, to-morrow, and forever, 
Saps and consumes the heart in which it works. 



LXXVIL— SOLILOQUY OF THE DYING ALCHEMIST. 

N. P. Willis. 

1. The night wind with a desolate moan swept by ; 
And the old shutters of the turret swung, 
Creaking upon their hinges ; and the moon, 

As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, 
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes 
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and came. 

2. The silent room, 
From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire 
Had the distinctness of a knell ; and when 
Duly the antique horologe beat one, 

He drew a phial from beneath his head, 
And drank. And instantly his lips compressed, 
And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame, 
He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
-Upright, and communed with himself : — 

3. " I did not think to die 

Till I had finished what I had to do : 

I thought to pierce th' eternal secret through 

With this my mortal eye : 
I felt, — God ! it seemeth even now 
This can not be the death-dew on my brow ! 

4. " And yet it is, — I feel, 

Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid ; 

And in my eyes the death-sparks flash and fade ; 

And something seems to steal 
Over my bosom like a frozen hand, — 
Binding its pulses with an icy band. 
8* 



178 



5. " And this is death ! But why 

Feel I this wild recoil ? It can not be 
Th' immortal spirit shuddereth to be free ! 

"Would it not leap to fly 
Like a chain'd eaglet at its parent's call ? 
I fear, — I fear, — that this poor life is all ! 

G. " Yet thus to pass away ! — 

To live but for a hope that mocks at last, — 
To agonize, to strive, to watch, to fast, 

To waste the light of day, 
Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, 
All that we have and are, — for this, — for naught ! 

7. " Grant me another year, 

God of my spirit ! — but a day, — to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within ! 

I would know something here ! 
Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! 
Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! 

8. u Vain, — vain ! — my brain is turning 

With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick, 
And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick, 

And I am freezing, — burning, — 
Dying ! God ! if I might only live ! 
My phial Ha! it. thrills me, — I revive. 

9. " Aye, — were not man to die 

He were too mighty for this narrow sphere ! 
Had he but time to brood on knowledge here, — 

Could he but train his eye, — 
Might he but wait the mystic word and hour, — 
Only his Maker would transcend his power ! 

10. " Earth has no mineral strange, — 
Th' illimitable air no hidden wings, — 
"Water no quality in covert springs, 

And fire no power to change, — 
Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell, 
Which the unwasting soul might not compel. 

11. " Oh, but for time to track 

The upper stars into the pathless sky : 
To see th' invisible spirits, eye to eye : 

To hurl the lightning back : 
To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls : 
To chase Day's chariot to the horizon-walls ; 



AND ORATORY. 179 

12. " And more, much more, — for now 

The life-sealed fountains of my nature move, — 
To nurse and purify this human love, — 

To clear the godlike brow 
Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down 
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one, — 

13. " This were indeed to feel 

The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream, — 
To live, — God ! that life is but a dream ! 

And death Aha ! I reel, — 

Dim, — dim, — I faint, — darkness comes o'er my eye, — 
Cover me ! save me ! God of Heaven ! I die ! " 

14. 'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 
No friend has closed his eyelids, and his lips, 
Open and ashy pale, th' expression wore 

Of his death-struggle. His long silvery hair 
Lay on his hollow temples thin and wild, 
His frame was wasted, and his features wan 
And haggard as with want, and in his palm 
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe 
Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 



LXXVIII.— THE BELLS. 

Edgar A. Poe. 
Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells — 
"What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, in the icy air of night ! 
While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens, seem to twinkle 

With a crystalline delight — 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding-bells, golden bells, 
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night how they ring out their delight ! 
From the molten-golden notes, all in tune, 

What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats on the moon ! 

0, from out the sounding cells, 
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells ! 



180 



How it swells, how it dwells 

On the Future ! how it tells of the rapture that impels 

To the swinging and the ringing of the bells, bells, bells — 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells— 

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells. 

Hear the loud alarum-bells, brazen bells ! 

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! 

In the startled ear of night how they scream out their affright ! 

Too much horrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek, 

Out of tune, 
In the clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, with a desperate desire, 
And a resolute endeavor, now — now to sit or never, 

By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
0, the bells, bells, bells, what a tale their terror tells of Despair ! 
How they clang, and clash, and roar ! what a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 

Yet the ear it fully knows, 
By the twanging and the clanging, how the danger ebbs and flows; 

Yet the car distinctly tells, 
In the jangling, and the wrangling, how the danger sinks and swells, 
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells, of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells— 
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells ! 

Hear the tolling of the bells, iron bells ! 

What a world of solemn thought their monody compels ! 

In the silence of the night, how we shiver with affright 

At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
For every sound that floats from the rust within their throats 

Is a groan. 
And the people — ah, the people — they that dwell up in the steeple 

All alone, 
And who tolling, tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone, 
Feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone — 
They are neither man nor woman — they are neither brute nor human, 

They are ghouls : 
And their king it is who tolls ; and he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, 
A pasan from the bells ! and his merry bosom swells 
With the psean of the bells ! and he dances and he yells : 
Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the pasan of the bells, of the bells : 



AND ORATORY. 181 

Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells, of the bells, bells, bells — 

To the sobbing of the bells : 
Keeping time, time, time, as he knells, knells, knells, 
In a happy Runic rhyme, to the rolling of the hells — 
Of the bells, bells, bells, to the tolling of the bells, 
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells — 
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 



LXXIX.— THE OLD CONTINENTALS. 

Guy Humphrey McMaster. 

1. In their ragged regimentals 
Stood the old Continentals, 

Yielding not, 
When the Grenadiers were lunging, 
And like hail fell the plunging 

Cannon-shot : 

When the files 

Of the isles, 
From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner of the rampant 

Unicorn, 
And grummer, grummer, giummer rolled the roll of the drummer, 

Through the morn ! 

2. Then with eyes to the front all, 
And with guns horizontal, 

Stood our sires ; 
And the balls whistled deadly, 
And in streams flashing redly 

Blazed the fires; 

As the roar 

On the shore, 
Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres 

Of the plain ; 
And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder, 

Cracking amain ! 

3. Now like smiths at their forges 
Worked the red St. George's 

Cannoniers ; 
And the " villainous saltpetre " 
Rang a fierce, discordant metre 

Round their ears ; 



182 



As the swift 

Storm-drift, 
With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards' clangor 

On our flanks. 
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire 

Through the ranks ! 

4. Then the old-fashioned Colonel, 
Galloped through the white infernal 

Powder-cloud ; 
And his broad sword was swinging, 
And his brazen throat was ringing 
Trumpet loud. 
Then the blue 
Bullets flew, 
And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the leaden 

Kifle-breath. 
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, 
Hurling death ! 



LXXX.— OXCE I WAS PURE. 

1. ! the snow, the beautiful snow, 
Filling the sky and the earth below : 
Over the housetops, over the street, 
Over the heads of the people you meet, 

Dancing, 

Flirting, 

Skimming along, 
Beautiful snow ! It can do nothing wrong, 
Flying to kiss a fair lady's cheek, 
Clinging to lips in a frolicsome freak, 
Beautiful snow from the heaven above 
Pure as an angel, as gentle as love ! 

2. ! the snow, the beautiful snow, 

How the flakes gather and laugh as they go ! 
Whirling about in its maddening fun, 
It plays in its glee with every one, 
Chasing, 

Laughing, 

Hurrying by, 
It lights up the face and it sparkles the eye ! 



AND ORATORY. 183 

And even the dogs, with a bark and a bound, 
Snap at the crystals that eddy around : 
The town is alive, and its heart in a glow, 
To welcome the coming of beautiful snow. 

8. How the wild crowd goes swaying along, 
Hailing each other with humor and song ! 
How the gay sledges, like meteors, flash by, 
Bright for the moment, then lost to the eye ; 
Kinging, 

Swinging, gjegg. ;• ^ 

Dashing they go, 
Over the crest of the beautiful snow ; 
Snow so pure when it falls from the sky, 
To be trampled in mud by the crowd rushing by, 
To be trampled and tracked by the thousands of feet, 
Till it blends with the filth in the horrible street. 

4. Once I was pure as the snow — but I fell ! 
Fell like the snow-flakes from heaven to hell : 
Fell to be trampled as filth in the street : 
Fell to be scoffed, to be spit on and beat : 

Pleading, 

Cursing, 

Dreading to die, 
Selling my soul to whoever would buy, 
Dealing in shame for a morsel of bread, 
Hating the living and fearing the dead : 
Merciful God ! have I fallen so low ? 
And yet I was once like the beautiful snow. 

5. Once I was fair as the beautiful snow, 

With an eye like its crystal, a heart like its glow : 
Once I was loved for my innocent grace — 
Flattered and sought for the charms of my face : 
Father, 

Mother, 

Sisters all, 
God, and myself, I have lost by my fall. 
The veriest wretch that goes shivering by, 
Will take a wide sweep lest I wander too nigh ; 
For all that is on or above me, I know, 
There is nothing as pure as the beautiful snow. 

6. How strange it should be that this beautiful snow 
Should fall on a sinner with nowhere to go ! 



184 



How strange it should be, when the night comes again, 
If the snow and the ice struck my desperate brain, 
Fainting, 

Freezing, 

Dying alone, 
Too wicked for prayer, too weak for my moan 
To be heard in the crazy town, 
Gone mad in the joy of the snow coming down, 
To lie and to die in my terrible woe, 
With a bed and a shroud of the beautiful snow. 



LXXXI.— PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S SPEECH AT THE GETTYS- 
BURG CEMETERY. 

1. Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought 
forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, 
and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created 
equal. Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing 
whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so 
dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle- 
field of that war. "We have come to dedicate a portion 
of that field as a final resting-place for those who gave their 
lives that that nation might live. 

2. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do 
this. But in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot 
consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, 
living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it 
far above our power to add or detract. The world will 
little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, 
rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which 
those who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. 

3. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great 
task remaining before us, that from these honored dead we 
take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave 
the last full measures of devotion : that we here highly 
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain : that 
this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, 



AND ORATORY. 185 

and that Government of the people, by the people, and for 
the people, shall not perish from the earth. 



LXXXIL— €HAKACTER OF BLANNERHASSETT. 

Wirt. 
In 180?, Aaron Burr and others, among whom was Blannerhassett, 
were tried on. an indictment for treason against the government of the 
United States. They were accused of a design to take possession of New 
Orleans, and to erect the country watered by the Mississippi and its branch- 
es, into an independent government. They were acquitted for want of 
evidence, though it was generally believed that Burr was guilty. The beau- 
tiful island, upon which Blannerhassett resided, is situated in the Ohio river, 
about 270 miles above Cincinnati. His former residence is now in ruins, 
but the island is still an object of curiosity to the traveller. 

1. Let us put the. case between Burr and Blannerhassett. 
Let us compare the two men, and settle the question of 
precedence between them. Who, then, is Blannerhassett ? 
A native of Ireland, a man of letters, who fled from the 
storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. Possess- 
ing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon 
it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellish- 
ment of fancy. A shrubbery, that Shenstone might have 
envied, blooms around him. Music, that might have 
charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. An extensive 
library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical 
apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of 
nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their min- 
gled delights around him. 

2. The evidence would convince you, that this is but a 
faint picture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, 
this innocent simplicity, and this tranquillity, this feast of 
the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, the destroyer 
comes : he comes to change this paradise into a hell. A 
stranger presents himself. Introduced to their civilities, by 
the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he 
soon finds his way to their hearts by the dignity and ele- 
gance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his con- 
versation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his 
address. 



186 



3. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is ever 
simple and credulous. Conscious of no design itself, it 
suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its 
breast. Every door, and portal, and avenue of the heart is 
thrown open, and all who choose it, may enter. Such was 
the state of Eden, when the serpent entered its bowers. 
The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself 
into the open and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate 
Blannerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing the 
native character of that heart, and the objects of its affec- 
tion. By degrees, he infuses into it the fire of his own 
courage : a daring and desperate thirst for glory : an ardor 
panting for great enterprises, for all the storm, and bustle, 
and hurricane of life. 

4. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every 
object of his former life is relinquished. No more he enjoys 
the tranquil scene : it has become flat and insipid to his 
taste. His books are abandoned. His retort and crucible 
are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its 
fragrance upon the air in vain : he likes it not. His ear no 
longer drinks the rich melody of music : it longs for the 
trumpet's clangor and the cannon's roar. Even the prattle 
of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him ; and the 
angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom 
with ecstacy so unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt, 

5. Greater objects have taken possession of his soul. 
His imagination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, of 
stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been 
taught to bum, with restless emulation, at the names of 
great heroes and conquerors. His enchanted island is des- 
tined soon to relapse into a wilderness ; and, in a few 
months, the beautiful and tender partner of his bosom, 
whom he lately " permitted not- the winds of summer to 
visit too roughly," we find shivering, at midnight, on the 
winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the 
torrents, that froze as they fell. 

6. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his in- 



AND ORATORY. 187 

terest and his happiness, thus seduced from the paths of 
innocence and peace, thus confounded in the toils that were 
deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mas- 
tering spirit and genius of another — this man, thus ruined 
and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this 
grand drama of guilt and treason, this man is'to be called 
the principal offender, while he, by whom he was thus 
plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere ac- 
cessory ! 

7. Is this reason ? Is it law ? Is it humanity ? Neither 
the human heart nor the human understanding, will bear a 
perversion so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the 
soul ! so revolting to reason ! Let Aaron Burr, then, not 
shrink from the high destination which he has courted ; and 
having already ruined Blannerhassett, in fortune, character, 
and happiness, forever, let him not attempt to finish the 
tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself 
and punishment. 



LXXXIIL— ON THE TKIAL OF A MURDERER. 

Daniel Webster. 
1. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in 
his own house, and in his own bed, is made the victim of 
butcherly murder for mere pay. Truly, here is a new lesson 
for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the 
portrait of murder, if he will show it, as it has been ex- 
hibited in an example, where such example was least to 
have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New Eng- 
land society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, 
the brow knitted by revenge, the face black with settled 
hate, and the blood-shot eye emitting livid fires of malice : 
let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, bloodless 
demon : a picture in repose, rather than in action ; not so 
much an example of human nature in its depravity and in 
its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature, a fiend in the 
ordinary display and development of his character* 



188 wiley's elocution 

2. The deed was executed with a degree of self-posses- 
sion and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it 
was planned. The circumstances now clearly in evidence, 
spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had 
fallen on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. 
A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet ; the first 
sound slumbers of the night held him in their soft but 
strong embrace. The assassin enters through the window, 
already prepared, into an unoccupied apartment. With 
noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the 
moon : he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches 
the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock, by 
soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges ; and 
he enters, and beholds his victim before him. The room 
was uncommonly open to the admission of light. The face 
of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and 
the beams of the moon, resting on the gray locks of his 
aged temple, showed him where to strike. The fatal blow 
is given ! and the victim passes without a struggle or a 
motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death ! 

3. It is the assassin's purpose to make sure work ; and 
he yet plies the dagger, though it was obvious that life had 
been destroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even 
raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the 
heart ; and replaces it again over the wounds of the pon- 
iard ! To finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the 
pulse ! He feels it, and ascertains that it beats no longer ! 
It is accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, re- 
traces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he 
came in, and escapes. He has done the murder : no eye 
has seen him, no ear has heard him. The secret is his own, 
and it is safe ! 

4. Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such 
a secret can be safe nowhere. The whole creation of God 
has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow 
it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which 
glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in 



AND ORATOEY. 189 

the splendor of noon : such secrets of guilt are never safe 
from detection, even by men. True, it is, generally speak- 
ing, that " murder will out." True it is, that Providence 
hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those 
who break the great law of heaven, by shedding men's 
blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, 
in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must 
come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn 
at once to explore every man, every thing, every circum- 
stance connected with the time and place : a thousand ears 
catch every whisper : a thousand excited minds intensely 
dwell on the scene, — shedding all their light, and ready to 
kindle, at the slightest circumstance, into a blaze of dis- 
covery. 

5. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. 
It is false to itself, or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse 
to be true to itself. It labors under its guilty possession, 
and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was 
not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds 
itself preyed on by a torment, which it does not acknowl- 
edge to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it 
can ask no sympathy nor assistance, either from heaven or 
earth. The secret which the murderer possesses, soon comes 
to possess him ; and like the evil spirits of which we read, 
it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will. He 
feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and de- 
manding disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in 
his face, reads it in his eyes, and almost hears its workings 
in the very silence of his thoughts. It has become his 
master. It betrays his discretion, it breaks down his cour- 
age, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions from with- 
out begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstances 
to entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater 
violence to burst forth. It must be confessed, it icitt be 
confessed : there is no refuge from confession but suicide, 
and suicide is confession. 



190 



LXXXIV.— CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Alfred Tennyson. 

1. Half a league, half a league, 

Half a league onward, 
All in the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 
" Forward, the Light Brigade : 
Charge for the guns ! " he said. 
Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

2. " Forward, the Light Brigade ! " 
Was there a man dismayed ? 
Not though the soldiers knew 

Some one had blundered : 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why, 
Theirs but to do and die : 
Into the valley of death 

Rode the six hundred. 

3. Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon in front of them 

Volleyed and thundered : 
Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well : 
Into the jaws of death, 
Into the mouth of hell, 
Rode the six hundred. 

4. Flashed all their sabers bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 
Sab'ring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wondered : 
Plunged in the battery smoke, 
Right through the line they broke : 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the saber-stroke, 

Shattered and sundered. 
Then they rode back, but not, 

Not the six hundred. 



AND OEATOKY. 191 



6. Cannon to right of them, 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered : 
Stormed at -with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 
They that had fought so well, 
Came through the jaws of death, 
Back from the mouth of hell, 
- All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

6. TVhen can their glory fade ? 
0, the wild charge they made ! 

All the world wondered. 
Honor the charge they made ! 
Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred ! 



LXXXV.— " EXCELSIOR ! " 

1. The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 

14 Excelsior ! " 

2. His brow was sad : his eye, beneath, 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath : 
And like a silver clarion rung 

The accents of that unknown tongue, 
" Excelsior ! " 

3. In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright 
Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
" Excelsior ! " 

4. " Try not the pass ! " the old man said, 
" Dark lowers the tempest overhead : 
The roaring torrent 's deep and wide ! " 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 

" Excelsior ! " 



LOXGFELLOW. 



192 






" Oh ! stay," the maiden said, '' and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast ! " — 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye ; 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 

" Excelsior ! " 
" Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
This was the peasant's last good-night ; — 
A voice replied, far up the bight, 

" Excelsior ! " 
At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 

" Excelsior ! " 
A traveller, by the faithful hound, 
naif-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 

" Excelsior ! " 
There, in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star — 

" Excelsior ! " 



LXXXVL— SOLILOQUY OF KIXG RICHARD III. 

Shakspeare. 
1. Give me another horse — bind up my wounds — 

Have mercy, Jesu — soft : I did but dream ! 

0, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me ! 

The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. 

What do I fear ? Myself? There's none else by. 

Richard loves Richard : that is, I am I. 

Is there a murderer here ? Xo : yes ; I am. 

Then fly. What ! From myself? Great reason, why ? 

Lest I revenge. What ? Myself, on myself? 

I love myself? Wherefore ? For any good 

That I myself have done unto myself? 

0, no : alas ! I rather hate myself, 

For hateful deeds committed bv mvself. 



AND OEATORY. 193 

2. I am a villain : yet I lie : I am not. 

Fool, of thyself speak well — fool, do not flatter — 
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues ; 
And every tongue brings in a several tale ; 
And every tale condemns me for a villain. 
Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree — 
Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree, 
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty ! guilty ! 
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, 
And, if I die, no soul will pity me ; 
Nay ; wherefore should they ; since that I myself 
Find in myself no pity to myself? — 
Methought the souls of all that I had murdered 
Came to my tent, and every one did threat 
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard. 



LXXXYII.— MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. 

Shakspeare. 

1. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
Creep in our ears : soft stillness, and the night, 
Become the touches of sweet harmony. 

Sit, Jessica : Look, how the floor of heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold : 
There's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest, 
But in his motion like an angel sings, 
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim : 
But, while this muddy vesture of decay 
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it — 
Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn ; 
With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, 
And draw her home with music. 

2. Do thou but note a w r ild and wanton herd, 
Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, 
Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, 
Which is the hot condition of their blood ; 

If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, 
Or any air of music touch their ears, 
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, 
Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze, 
9 



194 



By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet 

Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods 

Since nought so stockish hard, and full of rage, 

But music for the time doth change his nature. 

The man that hath no music in himself, 

Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils : 

The motions of his spirit are dull as night, 

And his affections dark as Erebus : 

Let no such man be trusted. 



LXXXVIII.— THE ISLES OF GREECE. 

1. The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung : 
Where grew the arts of war and peace : 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal summer gilds them yet ; 
But all, except their sun, is set. 

2. The mountains look on Marathon — 

And Marathon looks on the sea ; 
And musing there an hour alone, 

I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; 
For, standing on the Persian's grave, 
I could not deem myself a slave. 

8. 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame, 
Though linked among a fettered race, 

To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
Even as I sing, suffuse my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 

4. Must we but weep o'er days more blessed ? 

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled — 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae. 

5. What ! silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 
And answer, " Let one living head, 



BVRON. 



AND OKATORY. 195 



But one arise, — we come, we come ! " 
'Tis but the living who are dumb. 

6. In vain — in vain : strike other chords : 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! — 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, 
How answers each bold bacchanal ! 

7. The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

8. Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 

They have a king who buys and sells. 
In native swords and native ranks 

The only hope of courage dwells ; 
But Turkish force and Latin fraud 
Would break your shield, however broad. 

9. Place me on Sunium's marble steep, 

Where nothing, save the waves and I, 
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 

There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 



LXXXIX.— WHAT IS TIME? 



Marsden. 



1. I asked an aged man, a man of cares, 
Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs : 
" Time is the warp of life," he said, " oh tell 

The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well." 

2. I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 
Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled : 
From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, 

" Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode ! " 

3. I asked the dying sinner, ere the tide 

Of life had left his veins : " Time ! " he replied : 
" I've lost it ! Ah, the treasure ! " and he died. 



196 



4. I asked a spirit lost ; but oh, the shriek 

That pierced my soul ! I shudder -while I speak ! 
It cried, " A particle ! a speck ! a mite 
Of endless years, duration infinite ! " 

5. I asked my Bible ; and, mcthinks, it said, 

" Time is the present hour : the past, is fled : 
Live ! live to-day ! to-morrow never yet 
On any human being rose or set." 

6. I asked old Father Time himself, at last ; 
But in a moment, he flew swiftly past, 
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind 

His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. 

7. I asked the mighty Angel who shall stand 
One foot on sea, and one on solid land : 
" I now declare, the mystery is o'er : 
Time was," he cried, " but Time shall be no more ! " 



XC— DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD. 

1. His form was fair, his cheek was health : 
His word a bond, his purse was wealth ; 
With wheat his field was covered o'er, 
Plenty sat smiling at his door. 

His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy : 

Now laughed his daughter, played his boy : 

His library, though large, was read 

Till half its contents decked his head. 

At morn, 'twas health, wealth, pure delight, 

'Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night. 

I wished not to disturb his bliss : 

'Tis gone ! but all the fault is his. 

2. The social glass I saw him seize, 
The more with festive wit to please, 
Daily increase his love of cheer : 
Ah, little thought he /was near ! 
Gradual indulgence on him stole, 
Frequent became the midnight bowl. 
I, in that bowl, the headache placed, 
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced. 
Shame next I mingled with the draught : 
Indignantly he drank, and laughed. 



AND OEATOEY. 197 

3. In the bowl's bottom, bankruptcy 

I placed : he drank with tears and glee. 

Remorse did I into it pour : 

He only sought the bowl the more. 

I mingled, next, joint torturing pain : 

Little the more did he refrain. 

The dropsy in the cup I mixed ; 

Still to his mouth the cup was fixed. 

My emissaries thus in vain 

I sent, the mad wretch to restrain. 

4. On the bowl's bottom, then, myself 
I threw : the most abhorrent elf 
Of all that mortals hate or dread ; 
And thus in horrid whispers said, 

" Successless ministers I've sent, 
Thy hastening ruin to prevent : 
Their lessons naught : then here am I : 
Think not my threatenings to defy. 
Swallow this, this thy last will be, 
For with it, thou must swallow me." 

5. Haggard his eyes, upright his hair, 
Kemorse his lips, his cheeks despair : 
With shaking hands the bowl he clasp'd, 
My meatless limbs his carcass grasp'd 
And bore it to the church-yard, where 
Thousands, ere I would call, repair. 

6. Death speaks : ah, reader, dost thou hear ? 
Hast thou no lurking cause to fear ? 

Has not o'er thee the sparkling bowl, 
Constant, commanding, sly control ? 
Betimes reflect, betimes beware, 
Though ruddy, healthful now, and fair : 
Before slow reason lose the sway, 
Reform : postpone another day, 
You soon may mix with common clay. 



XCI.— HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 

1. To be or not to be — that is the question ! 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 



Shakspeare. 



198 



The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or to take arras against a sea of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them : To die — to sleep — 

No more ! — and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. 

To die— to sleep : 

To sleep ? — perchance to dream — aye, there's the rub ! 

For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause ! There's the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes — 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? 

Who would fardels bear, 

To groan and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death — 

That undiscovered country, from whose bourne 

No traveller returns — puzzles the will, 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of ! 

Thus, conscience does make cowards of us all : 
And thus, the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. 



XCIL— THE MANIAC. 

Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe ! 

She is not mad that kneels to thee ; 
For what I'm now, too well I know, 

And what I was, and what should be. 



Lewis. 



AND OKATORY. 199 

I'll rave no more in proud despair : 

My language shall be mild, though sad : 
But yet I firmly, truly swear, 

I am not mad, I am not mad. 

2. My tyrant husband forged the tale 

Which chains me in this dismal cell : 
My fate unknown my friends bewail — 

Oh ! jailer, haste that fate to tell : 
Oh ! haste my father's heart to cheer : 

His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad 
To know, though kept a captive here, 

I am not mad, I am not mad. 

3. He smiles in scorn, and turns the key : 

He quits the grate : I knelt in vain : 
His glimmering lamp, still, still I see — 

'Tis gone ! and all is gloom again. 
Cold, bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light ! — 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ; 
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night, 

Although not mad : no, no, not mad. 

4. 'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain : 

What ! I — the child of rank and wealth — 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, 

Which never more my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how burns my head, 

But 'tis not mad : no, 'tis not mad. 

5. East thou, my child, forgot, ere this, 

A mother's face, a mother's tongue ? 
She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss, 

Nor round her neck how fast you clung ; 
Nor how with her you sued to stay ; 

Nor how that suit your sire forbade ; 
Nor how — I'll drive such thoughts away ; 

They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad. 

6. His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! 

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
None ever bore a lovelier child ; 
And art thou now forever gone ? 



200 



And must I never see thee more, 

My pretty, pretty, pretty lad ? 
I will be free ! unbar the door ! 

I am not mad : I am not mad. 

Oh ! hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks : 
He comes — I see his glaring eyes : 

Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes. 
Help ! help ! — he's gone ! — oh ! fearful woe, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to sec ! 
My brain, my brain — I know, I know, 

I am not mad, but soon shall be. 

Yes, soon ; for, lo you ! — while I speak — 

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 
He sees me : now, with dreadful shriek, 

He whirls a serpent high in air. 
Horror ! — the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad : 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends : I feel the truth : 

Your task is done — I'm mad ! I'm mad ! 



XCIIL— DARKNESS. 



Byron. 



1. I had a dream, which was not all a dream. 
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars 
Did wander, darkling, in the eternal space, 
Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth 
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air. 
Mora came and went — and came, and brought no day, 
And men forgot their passions, in the dread 
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts 
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light. 
And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones, 
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts, 
The habitations of all things which dwell, 
Vv r ere burnt for beacons : cities were consumed, 
And men were gathered round their blazing homes, 
To look once more into each other's face. 
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye 
Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch. 



AND OEATORY. 201 

2. A fearful hope was all the world contained : 
Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, 
They fell and faded ; and the crackling trunks 
Extinguished with a crash — and all was black. 
The brows of men, by their despairing light, 
Wore an unearthly aspect, as, by fits, 
The flashes fell upon them. Some lay down, 
And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest 
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled ; 
And others hurried to and fro, and fed 
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up, 
"With mad disquietude, on the dull sky, 
The pall of a past world ; and then again 
With curses, cast them down upon the dust, 
And gnashed their teeth, and howled. The wild birds shrieked, 
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, 
And flap their useless wings : the wildest brutes 
Came tame, and tremulous ; and vipers crawled 
And twined themselves among the multitude, 
Hissing, but stingless — they were slain for food. 

3. And War, which for a moment was no more, 
Did glut himself again : — a meal was bought 
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart, 
Gorging himself in gloom : no love was left : 

All earth was but one thought — and that was death, 

Immediate and inglorious, and the pang 

Of famine fed upon all entrails. Men 

Died ; and their bones were tombless as their flesh 

The meager by the meager were devoured. 

Even dogs assailed their masters, — all save one, 

And he was faithful to a corse, and kept 

The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, 

Till hunger clung them, or the drooping dead 

Lured their lank jaws : himself sought out no food, 

But, with a piteous, and perpetual moan, 

And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand 

Which answered not with a caress — he died. 

4. The crowd was famished by degrees. But two 
Of an enormous city did survive, 

And they were enemies. They met beside 
The dying embers of an altar-place, 
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things 
For an unholy usage. They raked up, 
9* 



202 wiley's elocution 



And, shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton hands, 

The feeble ashes ; and their feeble breath 

Blew for a little life, and made a flame, 

Which was a mockery. Then they lifted 

Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld 

Each other's aspects— saw, and shrieked, and died ; 

Even of their mutual hideousness they died, 

Unknowing who he was, upon whose brow 

Famine had written Fiend. 

The world was void : 
The populous and the powerful was a lump, * 
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless : 
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay. 
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still, 
And nothing stirred within their silent depths. 
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, 
And their masts fell down piecemeal : as they dropped 
They slept on the abyss, without a surge, — 
The waves were dead : the tides were in their grave : 
The moon, their mistress, had expired before : 
The winds were withered in the stagnant air, 
And the clouds perished : Darkness had no need 
Of aid from them — she was the universe. 



XCIV.— THE AMBITIOUS YOUTH 

E. BURRITT. 

The incident described in this selection occurred, some years since, 
at the Natural Bridge, in Virginia. This bridge is an immense mass of 
rock, thrown by the hand of nature over a considerable stream of water, 
thus forming a natural passage over the stream. 

1. Theee are three or four lads standing in the channel 
below the natural bridge, looking up with awe to that vast 
arch of unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over 
these everlasting abutments, " when the morning stars sang 
together." The little piece of sky sj>anning those measure- 
less piers, is full of stars, although it is mid-day. It is 
almost five hundred feet from where they stand, up those 
perpendicular bulwarks of limestone to the key-rock of 
that vast arch, which appears to them only the size of a 



AND OEATORT. 203 

pressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock 
clown the channel. . The sun is darkened, and the boys 
have unconsciously uncovered their heads, as if standing 
in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. 

2. At last, this feeling begins to wear away : they be- 
gin to look around them. They see the names of hundreds 
cut in the limestone abutments. A new feeling comes over 
their young hearts, and their knives are in their hands, in 
an instant. " What man has done, man can do," is their 
watchword, as they draw themselves up and carve their 
names a foot above those of a hundred- full-grown men who 
had been there before them. They are all satisfied with 
this feat of physical exertion except one, whose example 
illustrates perfectly the forgotten truth, that there is no 
royal road to intellectual eminence. This ambitious youth 
sees a name just above his reach, a name that will be green 
in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, 
Cesar, and Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. It was the 
name of Washington. Before he marched with Braddock 
to that fatal field, he had been there and left his name a 
foot above all his predecessors. 

3. It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write his 
name, side by side with that of the great father of his 
country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand; and, 
clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts again into the lime- 
stone, about a foot above where he stands : he then reaches 
up and cuts another place for his hands. It is a dangerous 
adventure ; but as he puts his feet and hands into those 
notches, and draws himself up carefully to his full length, 
he finds himself a foot above every name chronicled in 
that mighty wall. Tybile his companions are regarding 
him with concern and admiration, he cuts his name in rude 
capitals, large and deep, into that fiinty album. His knife 
is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new- 
created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another 
niche, and again he carves his name in large capitals. 

4. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of 



204: 

bis companions, lie cuts and climbs again. The graduations 
of his ascending scale grew wider apart. He measures 
his length at every gain he cuts. The voices of his friends 
wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on 
his ear. He now, for the first time, casts a look beneath 
him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment 
would have Ixfen his last. He clings with a convulsive 
shudder to his little niche in the rock. An awful abyss 
awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with severe ex- 
ertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dread- 
ful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn 
half-way to the haft. He can hear-the voices, but not the 
words, of his terror-stricken companions below. What a 
moment ! What a meager chance to escape destruction ! 
There was no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put 
his hands into the same niche with his feet, and retain his 
slender hold a moment. 

5. His companions instantly perceive this new and fear- 
ful dilemma, and await his fall with emotions that " freeze 
their young blood." He is too high, too faint, to ask for 
his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, to come 
and witness or avert his destruction. But one of his com- 
panions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds 
down the channel, and the situation of the fated boy is 
told upon his father's hearth-stone. 

6. Minutes of almost eternal length roll on ; and there 
are hundreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds 
on the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting 
the fearful catastrophe. The poor boy hears the hum of 
new and numerous voices both above and below. He can 
just distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting 
with all the energy of despair, " William ! William I 
dorft look down ! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet, 
are all here praying for you ! DonH loolc down ! I£eep 
your eye toward the top!" The boy did not look dovm. 
His eye is fixed like a flint toward Heaven, and his young 
heart on him who reigns there. 



AND ORATORY. 205 

7. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, 
and another foot is added to the hundreds that remove him 
from the reach of human help from below. How carefully 
he uses his wasting blade ! How anxiously he selects the 
softest places in that vast pier ! How he avoids every flinty 
grain ! How he economizes his physical powers, resting a 
moment at each gain he cuts. How every motion is watched 
from below. There stand his father, mother, brother, and 
sister, on the very spot, where, if he falls, he Avill not fall 
alone. 

8. The sun is now half way down the west. The lad 
has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and 
now finds himself directly under the middle of that vast 
arch of rocks, earth, and trees. He must cut his way in a 
new direction, to get from under this overhanging mountain. 
The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom : its vital heat 
is fed by the increased shouts of hundreds perched upon 
cliffs and trees, and others, who stand with ropes in their 
hands on the bridge above, or with ladders below. Fifty 
gains more must be cut, before the longest rope can reach 
him. His wasting blade strikes again into the limestone. 
The boy is- emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under 
that lofty arch. 

9. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are 
leaning over the outer edge of the bridge. Two minutes 
more and all will be over. The blade is worn to the last 
half inch. The boy's head reels : his eyes are starting from 
their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart : his life 
must hang upon the next gain he cuts. That niche is his 
last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife, his faithful 
knife, falls from his nerveless hand, and ringing along the 
precipice, falls at his mother's feet. An involuntary groan 
of despair runs like a death-knell through the channel be- 
low, and all is still as the grave. 

] 0. At the hight of nearly three hundred feet, the de- 
voted boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to com- 
mend his soul to God. 'Tis but a moment — there ! — one 



206 wiley's elocution 

foot swings off! — be is reeling — trembling — toppling over 
into eternity ! Hark ! a shout falls on his ear from above ! 
The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge, 
has caught a glimpse of the boy's head and shoulders. 
Quick as thought, the noosed rope is within reach of the 
sinking youth. No one breathes. With a faint convulsive 
effort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose. 
Darkness comes over him, and with the words, God ! and 
mother ! whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard 
in heaven, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shal- 
low niche. Not a lip moves while he is dangling over that 
fearful abyss : but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down 
and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before 
the tearful, breathless multitude, such shouting, such leap- 
ing and weeping for joy, never greeted the ear of human 
being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity. 



XCY.— SOLILOQUY OF A DRUNKARD'S WIFE. 

1. Time was, when much he loved me ; 
When we walked out, at close of day, t' inhale 
The vernal breeze. Ah, well do I remember, 
How, then, with careful hand, he drew my mantle 
Round me, fearful lest the evening dews 

Should mar my fragile health. Yes, then his eye 
Looked kindly on me when my heart was sad. 
How tenderly he wiped my tears away, 
While from his lips the words of gentle soothing 
In softest accents fell ! 

2. How blest my evenings too, when wintery blasts 
Were howling round our peaceful dwelling ! 

Oh, it was sweet, the daily task performed, 
By the sweet hearth and cheerful fire, to sit 
With him I loved: to view with glistening eye, 
And all a parent's fondness, the budding graces 
Of our little ones. 

3. Then ye had a father, 

My lovely babes, my more than helpless orphans. 



AND OEATORY. 207 

Your mother more than widowed grief has known : 

Yes, sharper pangs than those who mourn the dead, 

Seized on my breaking heart, when first I knew 

My lover, husband — oh, my earthly all — 

Was dead to virtue ; when I saw the man 

My soul too fondly loved, transformed to brute. 

Oh, it was then I tasted gall and wormwood ! 

4. Then the world looked dreary : fearful clouds 
Quick gathered round me : dark forebodings came : 
The grave, before, was terror ; now it smiled : 

I longed to lay me down in peaceful rest, 

There to forget my sorrows. But I lived, 

And, oh, my God ! what years of woe have followed ! 

I feel my heart is broken. He who vowed 

To cherish me — before God's altar vowed — 

Has done the deed. And shall I then upbraid him — 

The husband of my youthful days — the man 

To whom I gave my virgin heart away ? 

Patient I'll bear it all. 

5. Peace, peace, my heart ! 

'Tis almost o'er. A few more stormy blasts, 

And then this shattered, broken frame will fall, 

And sweetly slumber where 

The wicked cease from troubling, 

And the weary are at rest. 



XCVL— BINGEN ON THE RHINE. 

Mrs. Norton. 

1. A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers, 

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of woman's tears ; 
But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebbed away, 
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say. 
The dying soldier faltered, as he took that comrade's hand, 
And he said, " I never more shall see my own, my native land : 
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine, 
For I was born at Bingen — at Bingen on the Rhine. 

2. " Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around 
To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground, 

That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done, 
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun. 



208 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, 
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many scars: 
But some were young — and suddenly beheld life's morn decline; 
And one had come from Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine! 

3. " Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age, 
And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage : 

For my father was a soldier, and even as a child 

My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild ; 

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard, 

I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword, 

And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shine, 

On the cottage-wall at Bingen — calm Bingen on the Rhine! 

4. "Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, 
When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant tread ; 
But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, 

For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die. 

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name 

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame ; 

And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine), 

For the honor of old Bingen — dear Bingen on the Rhine ! 

5. " There's another — not a sister : in the happy days gone by, 
You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her eye : 
Too innocent for coquetry, — too fond for idle scorning, — 

Oh ! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest mourning : 

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen 

My body will be out of pain — my soul be out of prison), 

I dreamed I stood with Aer, and saw the yellow sunlight shine 

0:i the vine-clad hills of Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 

6. ''I saw the blue Rhine sweeping along — I heard, or seemed to hear 
The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear ; 

And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill, 

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; 

And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk 

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well-remembered walk, 

And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine : 

But we'll meet no more at Bingen — loved Bingen on the Rhine!" 

*7. His voice grew faint and hoarser, — his grasp was childish weak, — 
His eyes .put on a dying look, — he sighed and ceased to speak: 
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled, — 
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land — was dead ! 



AND ORATORY. 209 

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down 
On the red sandof the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown : 
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine, 
As it shone on distant Bingen — fair Bingen on the Rhine ! 



XCVIL— NEW ENGLAND AND THE UNION. 

S. S. Prentiss. 

1. Glorious New England ! thou art still true to thy 
ancient fame, and worthy of thy ancestral.honors. On thy 
pleasant valleys rest, like sweet dews of morning, the gentle 
recollections of our early life ; around thy hills and moun- 
tains cling, like gathering mists, the mighty memories of 
the Revolution ; and far away in the horizon of thy past 
gleam, like thy own bright northern lights, the awful 
virtues of our pilgrim sires ! But while we devote this day 
to the remembrance of our native land, we forget not that 
in which our happy lot is cast. 

2. We exult in the reflection, that though we count by 
thousands the miles which separate us from our birthplace, 
still our country is the same. We are no exiles meeting 
upon the banks of a foreign river, to swell its waters with 
our homesick tears. Here floats the same banner which 
rustled above our boyish heads, except that its mighty 
folds are wider, and its glittering stars increased in number. 

3. The sons of New England are found in every State 
of the broad republic ! In the East, the South, and the 
unbounded West, their blood mingles freely with every 
kindred current. We have but changed our chamber in 
the paternal mansion ; in all its rooms we are at home, and 
all who inhabit it are our brothers. To us the Union has 
but one domestic hearth ; its household gods are all the 
same. Upon us, then, peculiarly devolves the duty of feed- 
ing the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of guarding witli 
pious care those sacred household gods. 

4. We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to 
us it admits of no division. In the veins of our children 



210 



flows northern and southern blood : how shall it be sep- 
arated ? — who shall put asunder the best affections of the 
heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the 
land of our adoption ; so do we that of our birth. Let us 
ever be true to both ; and always exert ourselves in main- 
taining the unity of our country, the integrity of the re- 
23ublic. Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the 
golden cord of union ! thrice accursed the traitorous lips 
which shall propose its severance ! 



XCYIII.— A PSALM OF LIFE. 

II. W. Longfellow. 

1. Tell me not in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 

2. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal : 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 
Was not written of the soul. 

3. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end and way, 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us further than to-day. 

4. Art is long, and time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

5. In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 
Be a hero in the strife ! 

• 

6. Trust not Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act ! — act in the living Present ! 
Heart within, and God o'er head. 



AND OKATORY. 211 



Y. Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time : 

8. Footprints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 

9. Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate : 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. 



XCIX.— AFFECTATION IN THE PULPIT. 

William Cowper. 
In man or woman, — but far most in man, 
And most of all in man that ministers 
And serves the altar,— in my soul I loathe 
All affectation. 'T is my perfect scorn : 
Object of my implacable disgust. 
What ! — will a man play tricks, — will he indulge 
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form, 
And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
And pretty face, — in presence of his God ? 
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 
When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
His noble office, and, instead of truth, 
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock ! 
Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare, 
And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
I seek divine simplicity in him 
Who handles things divine ; and all besides, 
Though learned with labor, and though much admired 
By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, 
To me is odious as the nasal twang 
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 
Misled by custom strain celestial themes 
Through the pressed nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 



212 



I venerate the man whose heart is warm, 
Whose hands are pure, Avhose doctrine and whose life, 
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
That he is honest in the sacred cause. 
To such I render more than mere respect, 
Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 
In conversation frivolous, in dress 
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse : 
Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
But rare at home, and never at his books, 
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card : 
Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor : 
Ambitious of preferment for its gold; 
And well prepared, by iguorancc and sloth, 
By infidelity and love of world, 
To make God's work a sinecure — a slave 
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; — 
From such apostles, 0, ye mitred heads, 
Preserve the Church ! and lay not careless hands 
On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn ! 



C— LEAP FOR LIFE. 



Gko. P. Morris. 



1. Old Ironsides at anchor lay 

In the harbor of Mahon : 
A dead calm rested on the bay, 

And the winds to sleep had gone : 
When little Jack, the captain's son, 

With gallant hardihood, 
Climbed shroud and spar, and then upon 

The main truck rose and stood. 

2. A shudder ran through every vein, 

All hands were turned on high : 
There stood the boy with dizzy brain, 

Between the sea and sky. 
No hold had he above, below, 

Alone he stood in air : 
At that far height none dared to go : 

No aid could reach him there. 



AND OEATORT. 213 



3. We gazed, but not a man could speak, 

With horror all aghast : 
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, 

We watched the quivering mast. 
The atmosphere grew thick and hot, 

And of a lurid hue, 
As riveted unto the spot 

Stood officers and crew. 

4. The father came on deck, — he gasped, 

"Oh God! thy will be done ! " 
Then suddenly a rifle grasped, 

And aimed it at his son ; — 
" Jump ! far out, boy, into the wave, 

Jump, or I fire ! " he said: 
" This chance alone your life can save, 

Jump ! jump ! " The boy obeyed. 

5. He sunk, he rose, he lived, he moved, 

He for the ship struck out — 
On board we hailed the lad beloved, 

With many a manly shout : 
His father drew, with silent joy, 

Those wet arms round his neck, 
And folded to his heart the boy, 

Then fainted on the deck. 



CI.—" CLEON AND I." 

Charles Mackay 

1. Cleon hath a million acres, — ne'er a one have I : 
Cleon dwelleth in a palace, — in a cottage, I : 
Cleon hath a dozen fortunes, — not a penny, I ; 
But the poorer of the twain is Cleon, and not I. 

2. Cleon, true, possesseth acres, — but the landscape, I : 
Half the charms to me it yieldeth money cannot buy : 
Cleon harbors sloth and dulness, — freshening vigor, I : 
He in velvet, I in fustian, — richer man am I. 

3. Cleon is a slave to grandeur, — free as thought am I : 
Cleon fees a score of doctors, — need of none have I. 
Wealth-surrounded, care-environed, Cleon fears to die : 
Death may come, — he'll find me ready, — happier man am I. 



214 wiley's elocution 

4. Clcon sees no charms in Nature, — in a daisy, I : 
Cleon hears no anthems ringing in the sea and sky. 
Nature sings to me forever, — earnest listener I : 
State for statepvith all attendants, who would change? Not I. 



CII.— THE PROBLEM FOR THE UNITED STATES. 

Rev. Henry A. Boardman. 

1. Tins Union cannot expire as the snow melts from 
the rock, or a star disappears from the firmament. When 
it fills, the crash will be heard in all lands. Wherever the 
winds of Heaven go, that will go, bearing sorrow and dis- 
may to millions of stricken hearts ; for the subversion of 
this Government will render the cause of Constitutional 
Liberty hopeless throughout the world. What Nation can 
govern itself, if this Nation cannot ? What encouragement 
will any People have to establish liberal institutions for 
themselves, if ours fail ? Providence has laid upon us the 
responsibility and the honor of solving that problem in 
which all coming generations of men have a profound 
interest, — whether the true ends of Government can be 
secured by a popular representative system. 

2. In the munificence of his goodness. He put us in 
possession of our heritage, by a series of interpositions 
scarcely less signal than those which conducted the Hebrews 
to Canaan ; and He has, up to this period, withheld from 
us no immunities or resources which might facilitate an 
auspicious result. Never before was a People so advanta- 
geously situated for working out this great problem in 
favor of human liberty ; and it is important for us to under- 
stand that the world so regards it. 

3. If, in the frenzy of our base sectional jealousies, we 
dig the grave of the Union, and thus decide this question 
in the negative, no tongue may attempt to depict the dis- 
appointment and despair which will go along with the 
announcement, as it spreads through distant lands. It will 
be America, after fifty years' experience, giving in her 



AND OKATORY. 215 

adhesion to the doctrine that man was not made for self- 
government. It will be Freedom herself proclaiming that 
Freedom is a chimera : Liberty ringing her own knell, all 
over the globe. 

4. And, when the citizens or subjects of the Govern- 
ments which are to succeed this Union shall visit Europe, 
and see, in some land now struggling to cast off its fetters, 
the lacerated and lifeless form of Liberty laid prostrate 
under the iron heel of Despotism, let them remember that 
the blow which destroyed her was inflicted by their own 
country. 

" So the struck Eagle, stretched upon the plain, 
No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 
Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, 
And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; 
While the same plumage that had warmed his nest 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast." 



CIII.— THE AMERICAN EXPERIMENT OF SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

Edward Everett. 

1. We are summoned to new energy and zeal by the 
high nature of the experiment we are appointed in Provi- 
dence to make, and the grandeur of the theatre on which 
it is to be performed. At a moment of deep and general 
agitation in the Old World, it pleased Heaven to open this 
last refuge of humanity. The attempt has begun and is 
going on, far from foreign corruption, on the broadest scale, 
and under the most benignant prospects ; and it certainly 
rests with us to solve the great problem in human society, 
— to settle, and that forever, the momentous question, — 
whether mankind can be trusted with a purely popular 
system of Government ? 

2. One might almost think, without extravagance, that 
the departed wise and good, of all places and times, are 
looking down from their happy seats to witness what shall 



216 



now be clone by us — that they who lavished their treasures 
and their blood of old, — who spake and wrote, who labored, 
fought and perished, in the one great cause of Freedom 
and Truth, — are now hanging, from their orbs on high, 
over the last solemn experiment of humanity. 

3. As I have wandered over the spots once the scene 
of their labors, and mused among the prostrate columns of 
their senate-houses and forums, I have seemed almost to 
hear a voice from the tombs of departed ages, from the 
sepulchres of the Nations which died before the sight. 
They exhort us, they adjure us, to be faithful to our trust. 
They implore us, by the long trials of struggling humanity : 
by the blessed memory of the departed : by the dear faith 
which has been plighted by pure hands to the holy cause 
of truth and man : by the awful secrets of the prison-house, 
where the sons of freedom have been immured : by the 
noble heads which have been brought to the block : by the 
wrecks of time, by the eloquent ruins of Nations, — they 
conjure us not to quench the light which is rising on the 
world. Greece cries to us by the convulsed lips of her 
poisoned, dying Demosthenes ; and Rome pleads with us 
in the mute persuasion of her mangled Tully. 



CIV.— THE SHIP OF STATE. 

Rev. Wm. P. Lunt. 
1. Beeak up the Union of these States, because there 
are acknowledged evils in our system ? Is it so easy a 
matter, then, to make everything in the actual world con- 
form exactly to the ideal pattern we have conceived, in 
our minds, of absolute right ? Suppose the fatal blow were 
struck, and the bonds which fasten together these States 
were severed, would the evils and mischiefs that would be 
experienced by those who are actually members of this 
vast Republican Community be all that would ensue? 
Certainly not. We are connected with the several Nations, 



AND ORATORY. 217 

and Races of the world as no other People has ever been 
connected. 

2. We have opened our doors, and invited emigration 
to our soil from all lands. Our invitation has been accept- 
ed. Thousands have come at our bidding. Thousands 
more are on the way. Other thousands still are standing 
a-tiptoe on the shores of the Old World, eager to find a 
passage to the land where bread may be had for labor, and 
where man is treated as man. In our political family 
almost all Nations are represented. The several varieties 
of the race are here subjected to a social fusion, out of 
which Providence designs to form a "new man." 

3. We are in this way teaching the world a great lesson, 
— namely, that men of different languages, habits, manners 
and creeds, can live together, and vote together, and, if 
not pray and worship together, yet in near vicinity, and do 
all in peace, and be, for certain purposes at least, one 
People. And is not this lesson of some value to the world, 
especially if we can teach it not by theory merely, but 
through a successful example ? Has not this lesson, thus 
conveyed, some connection with the world's progress to- 
wards that far-off period to which the human mind looks 
for the fulfilment of its vision of a perfect social state? It 
may safely be ass.erted that this Union could not be dis- 
solved without disarranging and convulsing every part of 
the globe. 

4. Not in the indulgence of a vain confidence did our 
fathers build the Ship of State, and launch it upon the 
waters. We will exclaim, in the noble words of one of our 
poets : 

" Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State ! 
Sail on, Union, strong and great ! 
Humanity with all its fears, 
With all the hopes of future years, 
Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! 
We know what Master laid thy keel, 
What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel, 
Who made each mast, and sail, and rope, 
10 



218 



What anvils rang, -what hammers beat, 

In what a forge and what a heat 

Were shaped the anchors of thy hope ! 

Fear not each sudden sound and shock, — 

'T is of the wave and not the rock : 

'T is but the flapping of the sail, 

And not a rent made by the gale ! 

In spite of rock and tempest roar, 

In spite of false lights on the shore, 

Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! 

Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee. 

Our hearts, our hopes, our prayer3, our tears, 

Our faith triumphant o'er our fears, 

Are all with thee, — are all with thee ! " 



CV.— IX THE MIXES. 

1. Leave the sluice and " torn " untended, 

Shadows darken on the river : 
In the canon day is ended, 

Far above the red rays quiver : 
Lay aside the bar and spade, 

Let the pick-axe cease from drifting, 
See how much the claim has paid 

Where the gold dust has been sifting 

2. Tell no tales of wizard charm 

In the myths of ages olden, 
When the sorcerer's potent arm 

Turned all earthly things to golden : 
Pick and spade are magic rods 

In the brawny hands of miners : 
Mightier than the ancient gods, 

Laboring men are true diviners. 

3. Gather round the blazing fire 

In the deepening darkness gleaming, 
While the red tongues leaping, higher, 

Seem like banners upward streaming 
Stretched around the fiery coals, 

Lulled into luxurious dreaming, 
Half-a-dozen hungry souls 

Watch the iron kettle steaming;. 



AND ORATORY. 219 

4. Break the bread with ready hand, 

Labor crowns it with a blessing — 
Now the hungry crowd looks bland, 

Each a smoking piece possessing : 
Pass the ham along this way, 

Quick, before the whole is taken : 
Hang philosophy, we say, 

If we only save our bacon ! 

5. Spread the blankets on the ground, 

"We must toil again to-morrow, 
Labor brings us slumber sound 

No luxurious couch can borrow : 
Watch the stars drift up the sky, 

Bending softly down above us, 
Till in dreams our spirits fly 

Homeward to the friends who love us. 

6. As the needle, frail and shivering, 

On the ocean wastes afar, 
Veering, changing, trembling, quivering, 

Settles on the polar star ; 
So, in souls of those who roam, 

Love's magnetic fires are burning, 
To the loved ones left at home 

Throbbing hearts are ever turning. 



CYI —THE FAMILY MEETING. 

Charles Sprague. 

We are all here ! 

Father, mother, 

Sister, brother, 
All who hold each other dear ; 
Each chair is filled — we're all at home ; 
To-night let no cold stranger come: 
It is not often thus around 
Our old familiar hearth we're found: 
Bless, then, the meeting and the spot, 
For once be every care forgot : 
Let gentle Peace assert her power, 
And kind Affection rule the hour; 
We're all — all here. 



220 



WILEY S ELOCUTION 

2. We're not all here ! 
Some are away — the dead ones dear, 
Who thronged with us this ancient hearth, 
And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. 
Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, 
Looked in and thinned our little band : 
Some like a night-flash passed away, 

And some sank, lingering, day by day : 
The quiet graveyard — some lie there — 
And cruel Ocean has his share — 
We're not all here. 

3. We are all here ! 

Even they — the dead — though dead, so dear: 
Fond Memory, to her duty true, 
Brings back their faded form3 to view. 
How lifelike, through the mist of years, 
Each well-remembered face appears ! 
We see them as in times long past ; 
From each to each kind looks are cast : 
We hear their words, their smiles behold : 
They're round us as they were of old — 

We are all here. 
4 We are all here ! 

Father, mother, 

Sister, brother, 
You that I love with love so dear. 
This may not long of us be said ; 
Soon must we join the gathered dead; 
And by the hearth we now sit round, 
Some other circle will be found. 
Oh ! then, that wisdom may we know 
Which yields a life of peace below ; 
So, in the world to follow this, 
May each repeat, in words of bliss, 

" We're all— all here ! " 



CYIL— CHAKACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. 

Daniel Webster. 
1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momen- 
tous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong 
passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, further than 



AND ORATORY. 221 

it is connected with high intellectual and moral endow- 
ments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities 
which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does 
not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. 
Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in 
vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, 
but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in 
the subject, and in the occasion. 

2. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of 
declamation, all may aspire after it : they cannot reach it. 
It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a foun- 
tain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, 
with spontaneous, original, native force. 

3. The graces taught in the schools, the costly orna- 
ments and studied contrivances of sj)eech, shock and dis- 
gust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, 
their children, and their country, hang on the decision of 
the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is 
vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius 
itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence 
of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent : then, 
self-devotion is eloquent. 

4. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of 
logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless 
spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, 
informing every feature, and urging the whole man on- 
ward, right onward, to his object — this, this is eloquence ; 
or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all elo- 
quence, — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. 



CVIIL— ELEGY IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- YARD. 

Gray. 
1. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day! 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea : 
The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness, and to me. 



222 



2. Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 

3. Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 

4. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mold'rmg heap, 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

5. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow, twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 
The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

6. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, 
Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

*7. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield : 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : 
How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

8. Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short and simple annals of the poor. 

9. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
Await, alike, the inevitable hour : 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

10. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 

If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

11. Can storied urn or animated bust, 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, 

Or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 



AND ORATORY. 223 

12. Perhaps, in this-neglected spot, is laid 

Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire : 
Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

13. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll : 
Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

14. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark, unfathonr d caves of ocean bear : 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

15. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 

The little tyrant of his field withstood : 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest : 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 

16. The applause of list'ning senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 

1*7. Their lot forbade ; nor, circumscribed alone 

Their glowing virtues, but their crimes confined : 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind : 

18. The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide: 

To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame ; 
Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride, 
With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

19. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 

Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray : 
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life, 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

20. Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, 

Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

21. Their names, their years, spell'd by the unletter'd muse, 

The place of fam'e and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews, 
Teaching the rustic moralist to die. 



224 



22. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resign'd : 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
Nor cast one longing, ling'ring look behind ? 

23. On some fond breast the parting soul relies : 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires : 
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

24. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor'd dead, 

Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
If, chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, 

25. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

" Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 
Brushing, with hasty step, the dews away, 
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

26. There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 

That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, 
His listless length, at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. 

27. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 

Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove : 
Now, drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 

28. One morn, I miss'd him on the accustom'd hill, 

Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree : 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the woods was he. 

29. The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the church-yard path, we saw him borne. 
Approach, and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 
'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

THE EPITAPH. 

30. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 

A youth to Fortune, and to Fame, unknown: 
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth 
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 

31. Large was his bounty, and his soul, sincere: 

Heaven did a recompense a"s largely send : 
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, — a tear : 

He gain'd from Heav'n — 't was all he wish'd — a friend. 



AND ORATORY. 225 

32. No further seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode : 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) 
The bosom of his Father, and his God. 



CIX.— AN EVENING ADVENTURE. 

1. Not long since a gentleman was travelling in one of 
the counties of Virginia, and about the close of the clay 
stopped at a public house to obtain refreshment and spend 
the night. He had been there but a short time, before an 
old man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention 
of becoming his fellow guest at the same house. As the 
old man drove up, he observed that both the shafts of his 
gig were broken, and that they were held together by 
withes, formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our 
traveller observed further, that he was plainly clad, that 
his knee-buckles were loosened, and that something like 
negligence pervaded his dress. Conceiving him to be one 
of the honest yeomanry of our land, the courtesies of 
strangers passed between them, and they entered the 
tavern. It was about the same time, that an addition of 
three or four young gentlemen was made to their number : 
most, if not all of them, of the legal profession. 

2. As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, 
the conversation was turned, by one of the latter, upon the 
eloquent harangue which had that day been displayed at 
the bar. It was replied by the other, that he had witnessed, 
the same day, a degree of eloquence, no doubt equal, but 
it was from the pulpit. Something like a sarcastic rejoin- 
der was made as to the eloquence of the pulpit, and a warm 
and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of the 
Christian religion became the subject of discussion. From 
six o'clock until eleven, the young champions wielded the 
sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and ability 
every thing that could be said pro and con. 

10* 



226 wiley's elocution 

3. During this protracted period, the old gentleman 
listened with the meekness and modesty of a child, as if he 
was adding new information to the stores of his own mind ; 
or perhaps he was observing with a philosophic eye, the 
faculties of the youthful mind, and how new energies are 
evolved by repeated action ; or perhaps, with patriotic 
emotion, he was reflecting upon the future destinies of his 
country, and on the rising generation, upon whom those 
future destinies must devolve ; or, most probably, with a 
sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he was collecting 
an argument which no art would be " able to elude, and no 
force to resist." Our traveller remained a spectator, and 
took no part in what was said. 

4. At last, one of the young men, remarking that it 
was impossible to combat with long and established pre- 
judices, wheeled around, and with some familiarity, ex- 
claimed, " Well, my old gentleman, what think you of 
these things ? " If, said the traveller, a streak of vivid light- 
ning had at that moment crossed the room, their amaze- 
ment could not have been greater than it was from what 
followed. The most eloquent and unanswerable appeal 
that he had ever heard or read was made for nearly an 
hour, by the old gentleman. So perfect was his recollec- 
tion, that every argument urged against the Christian 
religion, was met in the order in which it w r as advanced. 
Hume's sophistry on the subject of miracles, was, if possible, 
more perfectly answered, than it had already been done by 
Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much 
simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not an- 
other word Avas uttered. 

5. An attempt to describe it, said the traveller, would 
be an attempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now a matter 
of curiosity and inquiry, who the old gentleman was. The 
traveller concluded that it was the preacher from whom 
the pulpit eloquence was heard ; but no, — it was John 
Makshall, the Chief Justice of the United States. 



AND OEATOEY. 227 

CX.— THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. 

Delavigne. 

1. On the deck stood Columbus : the ocean's expanse, 
Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. 

" Back to Spain ! " cry his men : " Put the vessel about ! 

"We venture no further through danger and doubt." — 

" Three days, and I give you a world ! " he replied : 

" Bear up, my brave comrades ; — three days shall decide." 

He sails, — but no token of land is in sight : 

He sails, — but the day shows no more than the night : 

On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee 

The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. 

2. The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er ■ 
The rudder which creaks mid the billowy roar : 

He hears'the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, 

And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast. 

The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies, 

And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes ; 

But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night, 

Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. 

" Columbus ! 'tis day, and the' darkness is o'er." — 

" Day ! and what dost thou see ? " — " Sky and ocean. No more ! " 

3. The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping, 
While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping : 

" Shall he perish ? " — " Ay ! death ! " is the barbarous cry; 

" He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die ! " 

Ungrateful and blind ! — shall the world-linking sea, 

He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be ? 

Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves, 

Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves ? 

The corse of an humble adventurer, then : 

One day later, — Columbus, the first among men ! 

4. But, hush ! he is dreaming ! — A veil on the main, 
At the distant horizon, is parted in twain, 

And now, on his dreaming eye, — rapturous sight ! — 
Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night ! 
0, vision of glory ! how dazzling it seems ! 
How glistens the verdure ! how sparkle the streams ! 
How blue the far mountains ! how glad the green isles ; 
And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles : 
" Joy ! joy ! " cries Columbus, " this region is mine ! " — 
Ah ! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine ! 



228 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

5. But, lo ! his dream changes ; — a vision less bright 
Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. 
The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band, 
Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land. 

He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire, 

And the peaceful Cazique, 'mid their ashes expire : 

He sees, too, — 0, saddest ! 0, mournfullest sight ! — 

The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. 

More terrible far than the merciless steel 

Is the upifted cross in the red hand of Zeal ! 

6. Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth, 
And a bright constellation beholds in the North. 
'Tis the herald of empire ! A People appear, 
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear ! 
They level the forest : they ransack the seas : 
Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze. 
" Hold ! " Tyranny cries ; but their resolute breath 
Sends back the reply, " Independence or Death ! " 
The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might, 
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. 

1. They have conquered ! The People, with grateful acclaim 
Look to Washington's guidance from Washington's fame ; — 
Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined 
In his patriot heart and republican mind. 
0, type of true manhood ! What sceptre or crown 
But fades in the light of thy simple renown ? 
And lo ! by the side of the Hero, a Sage, 
In Freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age : 
Whom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings 
The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings ! 

8. At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, — 

" Land ! land ! " cry the sailors ; " land ! land ! " — he awakes — 

He runs, — yes ! behold it ! — it blesseth his sight : 

The land ! 0, dear spectacle ! transport ! delight ! 

0, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain ! 

What will Ferdinand say ? and the Future ? and Spain ? 

He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne : 

His King will repay all the ills he has known : 

In exchange for a world what are honors and gains ? 

Or a crown ? But how is he rewarded ? — with chains ! 



AND ORATORY. 

CXI.— DESTRUCTION OF THE PHILISTINES. 

Milton. 
I. Occasions drew me early to the city ; 
And, as the gates I entered with sunrise, 
The morning trumpets festival proclaimed 
Through each high street : little I had despatched, 
When all abroad was rumored that this day 
Samson should be brought forth, to show the People 
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games. 
I sorrowed at his captive state, but minded 
Not to be absent at that spectacle. 

. The building was a spacious theatre 
Half round, on two main pillars vaulted high, 
With seats where all the lords, and each degree 
Of sort, might sit, in order to behold : 
The other side was open, where the throng 
On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand : 
I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 
Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, 
When to their sports they turned. Immediately 
Was Samson as a public servant brought, 
In their state livery clad : before him pipes, 
And timbrels, — on each side went armed guards, 
Both horse and foot, — before him and behind, 
Archers, and slingers, cataphracts and spears. 

At sight of him, the People with a shout 
Rifted the air, clamoring their god with praise, 
Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 
He, patient, but undaunted, where they led him, 
Came to the place ; and what was set before him, 
Which without help of eye might be essayed, 
To heave, pull, draw or break, he still performed 
All with incredible, stupendous force : 
None daring to appear antagonist. 
At length, for intermission sake, they led him 
Between the pillars : he his guide requested 
(For so from such as nearer stood we heard), 
As over-tired, to let him lean a while 
With both his arms on those two massy pillars 
That to the arched roof gave main support. 

He, unsuspicious, led him : which when Samson 
Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined, 



230 wiley's elocution 

And eyes fast fixed he stood, as one who prayed, 

Or some great matter in his mind revolved : 

At last with head erect, thus cried aloud : — 

" Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed 

I have performed, as reason was, obeying, 

Not without wonder or delight beheld : 

Now of my own accord such other trial 

I mean to show you of my strength, yet greater, 

As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 

5. This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed : 
As with the force of winds and waters pent, 
When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 
With horrible convulsion to and fro 
He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 
The whole roof after them, with burst of thunder 
Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, 
Lord,s, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests, 
Their choice nobility and flower, not only 
Of this, but each Philistian city round, 
Met fjjom all parts to solemnize this feast. 
Samson, with these inmixed, inevitably 
Pulled down the same destruction on himself: 
The vulgar only 'scaped, who stood without. 



CXIL— SATAN'S ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH. 

Milton. 

1. Black it stood as night, 

Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell, 
And shook a dreadful dart : what seemed his head 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
Satan was now at hand ; and from his seat 
The monster moving onward came as fast, 
With horrid strides : hell trembled as he strode. 
The undaunted fiend what this might be admired, 
Admired, not feared : God and His Son except, 
Created thing naught valued he, nor shunned. 
And with disdainful look thus first began : — 

2. " Whence, and what art thou, execrable shape ! 
That darest, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 



AND ORATOEY. 231 

To yonder gates ? Through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
Ketire, or taste thy folly ; and learn by proof, 
Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of Heaven ! " 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied : — 
" Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 
Who first broke peace in Heaven, and faith, till then 
Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons 
Conjured against the Highest ; for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain ? 
And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
Hell-doomed ! and breathest defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more 
Thy king and lord ! Back to thy punishment, 
False fugitive ! and to thy speed add wings : 
Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart - 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before." 
So spake the grisly terror ; and in shape, 
So speaking, and so threatening, grew ten.-fold 
More dreadful and deform : on the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the Arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Levelled his deadly aim : their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds, 
With Heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian ; then stand front to front 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid air : 
So frowned the mighty combatants, that hell 
Grew darker at their frown : so matched they stood ; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe ; and now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung, 
Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fast by hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, 
Risen, and with hideous cry rushed between. 



232 



CXIIL— BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 

T. S. Hughes. 
Joy holds her court in great Belshazzar's hall, 
Where his proud lords attend their monarch's call. 
The rarest dainties of the teeming East 
Provoke the revel and adorn the feast. 
And now the monarch rises : — " Pour," he cries 
" To the great gods, the Assyrian deities ! 
Pour forth libations of the rosy wine 
To Nebo, Bel, and all the powers divine ! 
Those golden vessels crown, which erewhile stood 
Fast by the oracle of Judah's God, 
Till that accursed race — " 

But why, king ! 
Why dost thou start, with livid cheek ? — why fling 
The untasted goblet from thy trembling hand ? 
Why shake thy joints, thy feet forget to stand ? 
Why roams thine eye, which seems in wild amaze 
To shun some object, yet returns to gaze, — 
Then shrinks again appalled, as if the tomb 
Had sent a spirit from its inmost gloom ? 

Awful the horror, when Bclshazzar raised 

His arm, and pointed where the vision blazed ! 

For see ! enrobed in flame, a mystic shade, 

As of a hand, a red right-hand, displayed ! 

And, slowly moving o'er the wall, appear 

Letters of fate, and characters of fear. 

In deathlike silence grouped, the revellers all 

Fix their glazed eyeballs on the illumined wall. 

See ! now the vision brightens, — now 'tis gone, 

Like meteor flash, like Heaven's own lightning flown ! 

But, though the hand hath vanished, what it writ 

Is uneffaced. Who will interpret it ? 

In vain the sages try their utmost skill : 

The mystic letters are unconstrued still. 

" Quick, bring the Prophet ! — let his tongue proclaim 

The mystery of that visionary flame." 

The holy Prophet came, and stood upright, 

With brow serene, before Belshazzar's sight. 

The monarch pointed trembling to the wall : 

" Behold the portents that our heart appal ! 



AND OEATOKY. 233 

Interpret them, Prophet ! thou shalt know 
What gifts Assyria's monarch can bestow." 

5. Unutterably awful was the eye 

Which met the monarch's ; and the stern reply 
Fell heavy on his soul : " Thy gifts withhold, 
Nor tempt the Spirit of the Law, with gold. 
Belshazzar, hear what these dread words reveal ! 
That lot on which the Eternal sets his seal. 
Thy kingdom numbered, and thy glory flown, 
The Mede and Persian revel on thy throne. 
Weighed in the balance, thou hast kicked the beam : 
See to yon Western sun the lances gleam, 
Which, ere his Orient rays adorn the sky, 
Thy blood shall sully with a crimson dye." 
In the dire carnage of that night's dread hour, 
Crushed mid the ruins of his crumbling power, 
Belshazzar fell beneath an unknown blow — 
His kingdom wasted, and his pride laid low ! 



CXIV.— THE NEW-YEAR'S NIGHT OF AN UNHAPPY MAN. 

RlCHTER. 

1. On new-year's night, an old man stood at his win- 
dow, and looked, with a glance of fearful despair, up to 
the immovable, unfading heaven, and down upon the still, 
pure, white earth, on which no one was now so joyless 
and sleepless as he. His grave stood near him : it was 
covered ouly with the snows of age, not with the verdure 
of youth ; and he brought with him out of a whole, rich 
life, nothing but errors, sins, and diseases ; a wasted body ; 
a desolate soul ; a heart full of poison ; and an old age full 
of repentance. The happy days of his early youth passed 
before him, like a procession of specters, and brought back 
to him that lovely morning, when his father first placed 
him on the cross-way of life, where the right hand led by 
the sunny paths of virtue, into a large and quiet land, full 
of light and harvests ; and the left plunged by the subter- 
ranean walks of vice, into a black cave, full of distilling 
poison, of hissing snakes, and of dark, sultry vapors. 



234 



2. Alas, the snakes were hanging upon his breast, and 
the drops of poison on his tongue ; and he now, at length, 
felt all the horror of his situation. Distracted, with un- 
speakable grief, and with face up-turned to heaven, he 
cried, " My father ! give me back my youth ! O, place me 
once again upon life's cross-way, that I may choose aright." 
But his father and his youth were long since gone. He 
saw phantom-lights dancing upon the marshes, and dis- 
appearing at the church-yard ; and he said, " These are my 
foolish days ! " He saw a star shoot from heaven, and 
glittering in its fall, vanish upon the earth. " Beheld an 
emblem of my career," said his bleeding heart, and the 
serpent tooth of repentance digged deeper into his wounds. 

3. His excited imagination shewed him specters flying 
upon the roof, and a skull, which had been left in the charnel- 
house, gradually assumed his own features. In the midst 
of this confusion of objects, the music of the new-year 
flowed down from the steeple, like distant church-melodies. 
His heart began to melt. He looked around the horizon, 
and over the wide earth, and thought of the friends of his 
youth, who now, better and happier than he, were the wise 
of the earth, prosperous men, and the fathers of happy 
children; and he said, "Like you, I also might slumber, 
with tearle'ss eyes, through the long nights, had I chosen 
aright in the outset of my career. Ah, my father ! had I 
hearkened to thy instructions, I too might have been happy." 

4. In this feverish remembrance of his youthful days, 
the skull bearing his features, seemed slowly to rise from 
the door of the charnel-house. At length, by that super- 
stition, which, in the new-year's night, sees the shadow of 
the future, it became a living youth. He could look no 
longer : he covered his eyes : a thousand burning tears 
streamed down, and fell upon the snow. In accents scarcely 
audible, he sighed disconsolately: " Oh, days of my youth, 
return, return ! " And they did return. It had only been 
a horrible dream. But, although he was still a youth, his 
errors had been a reality. And he thanked God, that he, 



AND ORATORY. 235 

still young, was able to pause in the degrading course of 
vice, and return to the sunny path which leads to the land 
of harvests. 

5. Return with him, young reader, if thou art walking 
in the same downward path, lest his dream become thy 
reality. For if thou turnest not now, in the spring-time 
of thy days, vainly, in after years, when the shadows of 
age are darkening around thee, shalt thou call, " Return, 
oh beautiful days of youth ! " Those beautiful days, gone, 
gone forever, and hidden in the shadows of the misty past, 
shall close their ears against thy miserable cries, or answer 
thee in hollow accents, " Alas ! ice return no more." 



CXV.— THE CLOSING YEAR. 

G. D. Pkentice. 

1. 'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er 

The still and pulseless world. Hark ! on the winds, 

The bell's deep tones are swelling ; — 'tis the knell 

Of the departed year. No funeral train 

Is sweeping past ; yet, on the stream and wood, 

With melancholy light, the moonbeams rest 

Like a pale, spotless shroud : the air is stirred, 

As by a mourner's sigh ; and, on yon cloud, 

That floats so still and placidly through heaven, 

The spirits of the Seasons seem to stand, 

Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form, 

And Winter, with his aged locks, — and breathe 

In mournful cadences, that come abroad 

Like the far wind-harp's wild, touching wail, 

A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year, 

Gone from the earth forever. 

2. 'Tis a time 

For memory and for tears. Within the deep, 
Still chambers of the heart, a specter dim, 
Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, 
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold 
And solemn finger to the beautiful 
And holy visions, that have passed away, 
And left no shadow of their loveliness 



236 



On the dead waste of life. The specter lifts 

The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, 

And bending mournfully above the pale, 

Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers 

O'er what has passed to nothingness. 

3. The year 

Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng 

Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, 

Its shadow, in each heart. In its swift course, 

It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful ; 

And they arc not. It laid its pallid hand 

Upon the strong man ; and the haughty form 

Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. 

It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged 

The bright and joyous ; and the tearful wail 

Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song 

And reckless shout resounded. It passed o'er 

The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield, 

Flashed in the light of mid-day ; and the strength 

Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass, 

Green from the soil of carnage, waves above 

The crushed and moldering skeleton. It came, 

And faded like a wreath of mist at eve ; 

Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, 

It heralded its millions to their home, 

In the dim land of dreams. 

4. Remorseless Time ! 

Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe ! What power 
Can stay him in his silent course, or melt 
His iron-heart to pity ! On, still on, 
He presses, and forever. The proud bird, — 
The condor of the Andes, that can soar 
Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave 
The fury of the northern hurricane, 
And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, — 
Furls his broad wing at night-fall, and sinks down 
To rest upon his mountain crag ; but Time 
Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, 
And Night's deep darkness has no chain to bind 
His rushing pinion. 

5. Revolutions sweep 

O'er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast 



AND OEATOEY. 237 

Of dreaming sorrow : cities rise and sink 

Like bubbles on the water : fiery isles 

Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back 

To their mysterious caverns : mountains rear 

To heaven their bold and blackened cliffs, and bow 

Their tall heads to the plain ; and empires rise, 

Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, 

And rush down, like the Alpine avalanche, 

Startling the nations ; and the very stars, 

Yon bright and glorious blazonry of God, 

Glitter awhile in their eternal depths, 

And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, 

Shoot from their glorious spheres, and pass away 

To darkle in the trackless void ; yet Time, 

Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, 

Dark, stern, all pitiless, and pauses not 

Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, 

To sit and muse, like other conquerors, 

Upon the fearful ruin he hath wrought. 



CXVL— A REPUBLIC OF PRAIRIE-DOGS. 

W. Irving. 

1. On returning from our excursion, I leurned that a 
burrow, or village, as it is termed, of prairie-dogs had 
been discovered upon the level summit of a hill, about a 
mile from the camp. Having heard much of the habits 
and peculiarities of these little animals, I determined to pay 
a visit to the community. The prairie-dog is, in fact, one 
of the curiosities of the Far West, about which travelers 
delight to tell marvelous tales, endowing him, at times, 
with something of the political and social habits of a ra- 
tional being, and giving him systems of civil government 
and domestic economy, almost equal to what they used to 
bestow upon the beaver. 

2. The prairie-dog is an animal of the cony kind, about 
the size of a rabbit. He is of a very sprightly, mercurial 
nature : quick, sensitive, and somewhat petulant. He is 
very gregarious, living in large communities, sometimes of 



238 



several acres in extent, where innumerable little heaps of 
earth, show the entrances to the subterranean cells of the 
inhabitants, and the well-beaten tracks, like lanes and streets, 
show their mobility and restlessness. According to the 
accounts given of them, they would seem to be continually 
full of sport, business, and public affairs : whisking about 
hither and thither, as if on gossiping visits to each other's 
houses, or congregating in the cool of the evening, or after 
a shower, and gamboling together in the open air. 

3. Sometimes, especially when the moon shines, they 
pass half the night in revelry, barking or yelping with 
short, quick, yet weak tones, like those of very young 
puppies. While in the hight of their playfulness and 
clamor, however, should there be the least alarm, they all 
vanish into their cells in an instant, and the village remains 
blank and silent. In case they are hard pressed by their 
pursuers, without any hope of escape, they will assume a 
pugnacious air, and a most whimsical look of impotent 
wrath and defiance. Such are a few of the particulars that 
I could gather about the habits of this little inhabitant of 
the prairies, who, with his pigmy republic, appears to be a 
subject of much whimsical speculation and burlesque re- 
marks, among the hunters of the Far West. 

4. It was toward evening that I set out, with a com- 
panion, to visit the village in question. Unluckily, it had 
been invaded in the course of the day by some of the 
rangers, who had shot two or three of its inhabitants, and 
thrown the whole sensitive community into confusion. As 
we approached, we could perceive numbers of the inhabit- 
ants seated at the entrance of their cells, while sentinels 
seem to have been posted on the out-skirts, to keep a look 
out. At sight of us, the picket-guards scampered in and 
gave the alarm ; whereupon, every inhabitant gave a short 
yelp or bark, and dived in his hole, his heels twinkling in 
the air, as if he had thrown a somerset. 

5. We traversed the whole village, or republic, which 
covered an area of about thirty acres ; but not a whisker 



AND OEATOEY. 239 

of an inhabitant was to be seen. We probed their cells as 
far as the ramrods of our rifles would reach, but in vain. 
Moving quietly to a little distance, we lay down upon the 
ground, and watched for a long time, silent and motionless. 
By and by, a cautious old burgher would slowly put forth 
the end of his nose, but instantly draw it in again. Another, 
at a greater distance, would emerge entirely ; but, catching 
a glance of us, would throw a somerset and plunge back 
again into his hole. At length, some who resided on the 
opposite side of the village, taking courage from the con- 
tinued stillness, would steal forth, and hurry off to a dis- 
tant hole, the residence, possibly, of some family connec- 
tion or gossiping friend, about whose safety they were 
solicitous, or with whom they wished to compare notes 
about the late occurrences. Others, still more bold, assem- 
bled in little knots in the streets and public places, as if to 
discuss the recent outrages offered to the commonwealth, 
and the atrocious murders of their fellow burghers. 

6. We rose from the ground, and moved forward to 
take a nearer- view of these public proceedings, when, yelp ! 
yelp ! yelp ! — there was a shrill alarm passed from mouth 
to mouth : the meeting suddenly dispersed : feet twinkled 
in the air in every direction, and, in an instant, all had van- 
ished into the earth. 

V. The dusk of the evening put an end to our observa- 
tions, but the train of whimsical comparisons produced in 
my brain, by the moral attributes which I had heard given 
to these little, politic animals, still continued after my re- 
turn to camp ; and, late in the night, as I lay awake, after 
all the camp was asleep, and heard, in the stillness of the 
hour, a faint clamor of shrill voices from the distant vil- 
lage, I could not help picturing to myself the inhabitants 
gathered together in noisy assembly and windy debate, to 
devise plans for the public safety, and to vindicate the in- 
vaded rights and insulted dignity of the republic. 



240 



CXVII.— THANATOPSIS. 

Bryant. 

[Thanatopsis is composed of the Greek words, thanatos meaning death, 
and opals, a view. Together, therefore, they signify a view of death or 
" Reflections on Death."] 

1. To him, who, in the love of nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks 
A various language ; for his gayer hours 

She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his dark musings, with a mild 
And gentle sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. 

2. When thoughts 

Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight 

Over thy spirit, and sad images 

Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 

Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart ; 

Go forth into the open sky, and list 

To nature's teaching, while from all around, 

Comes a still voice : — 

3. " Yet a few days, and thee, 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 

In all his course ; nor yet, in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 

Thine individual being, shalt thou go 

To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to th' insensible rock 

And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 

Turns with his share and treads upon. 

4. The oak 

Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. 
Yet not to thy eternal resting place 
Shalt thou retire alone, nor could'st thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, 



AND OKATORY. 241 

The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good. 
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
All in one mighty sepuleher. 

The hills, 
Hock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun : the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between : 
The venerable woods : rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 
Through the still lapse of ages. 

All that tread 
The globe, are but a handful, to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save its own dashings — yet — the dead are there ; 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep : the dead reign there alone. 

So shalt thou rest ; and what if thou shalt fall 
Unnoticed by the living ; and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou are gone ; the solemn brood of care 
Plod on ; and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glide away, the sons of men, 
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
The bowed with age, the infant in the smiles 
And beauty of its innocent age cut off, — 
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, 
By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. 
11 



242 



WILEY S ELOCUTION 



So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 



CXVIII.— THE CHURCH-YARD. 

Karamisin. 
{Two Voices from the Grave.) 

First Voice. How frightful the grave ! how deserted and drear ! 

With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, 
And the white bones all clattering together ! 
Second Voice. How peaceful the grave ! its quiet how deep ! 
Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, 
And flow'rets perfume it with ether. 
First Voice. There, riots the blood-crested worm on the dead, 

And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, 
And snakes in the nettle-weeds hiss. 
Second Voice. How lovely, how sweet the repose of the tomb ! 

No tempests are there ; but the nightingales come, 
And sing their sweet chorus of bliss. 
First Voice. The ravens of night flap their wings o'er the grave : 
'Tis the vulture's abode : 'tis the wolfs dreary cave, 
Where they tear up the dead with their fangs. 
Second Voice. There, the cony, at evening, disports with his love, 
Or rests on the sod ; while the turtles above 
Repose on the bough that o'erhangs. 
First Voice. There, darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath, 
And loathsome decay, fill the dwelling of death : 
The trees are all barren and bare. 
Second Voice. ! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, 
And sweet, with the violet's wafted perfume, 
With lilies and jessamine fair. 
First Voice. The pilgrim, who reaches this valley of tears, 

Would fain hurry by ; and, with trembling and fears, 
He is launched on the wreck-covered river. 



AND ORATORY. 243 

Second Voice. Here, the traveller, worn with life's pilgrimage dreary, 
Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, 
And sweetly reposes forever. 



CXIX.— JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 



Willis. 



1. She stood before her father's gorgeous tent, 
To listen for his coming. I have thought, 
A brother's and a sister's love was much. 

I know a brother's is, for I have loved 

A trusting sister ; and I know how broke 

The heart may be with its own tenderness. 

But the affection of a delicate child 

For a fond father, gushing as it does 

With the sweet springs of life, and living on 

Through all earth's changes, 

Must be holier ! The wind -bore on 

The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes 

Eang sharply on the ear at intervals ; 

And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts, 

Returning from the battle, poured from far, 

•Like the deep murmur of a restless sea. 

2. Jephthah led his warriors on 

Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set, 

And his stern lip curled slightly, as if praise 

Were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm, 

But free as India's leopard ; and his mail, 

Whose shekels none in Israel might bear, 

Was lighter than a tassel on his frame. 

His crest was Judah's kingliest, and the look 

Of his dark, lofty eye 

Might quell a lion. He led on ; but thoughts 

Seemed gathering round which troubled him. The veins 

Upon his forehead were distinctly seen ; 

And his proud lip was painfully compressed. 

He trod less firmly ; and his restless eye 

Glanced forward frequently, as if some ill 

He dared not meet, were there. His home was near, 

And men were thronging, with that strange delight 

They have in human passions, to observe 

The struggle of his feelings with his pride. 

He gazed intensely forward. 



244 



A moment more, 
And he had reached his home ; when lo ! there sprang 
One with a bounding footstep, and a brow 
Like light, to meet him. Oh ! how beautiful ! 
Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem, 
And her luxuriant hair, 'twas like the sweep 
Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still, 
As if the sight had withered him. She threw 
Her arms about his neck : he heeded not. 
She called him " Father," but he answered not. 
She stood and gazed upon him. Was he wroth ? 
There was no anger in that blood-shot eye. 
Had sickness seized him ? She unclasped his helm, 
And laid her white hand gently on his brow. 
The touch aroused him. He raised up his hands, 
And spoke the name of God in agony. 
She knew that he was stricken then, and rushed 
Again into his arms, and with a flood 
Of tears she could not stay, she sobbed a prayer 
That he would tell her of his wretchedness. 
He told her, and a momentary flush 
Shot o'er her countenance ; and then, the soul 
Of Jephthah's daughter wakened, and she stood 
Calmly and nobly up, and said, " 'Tis well ; 
And I will die ! " And when the sun had set, 
Then she was dead — but not by violence, 



CXX.— FRANCE AND THE UNITED STATES. 

George "Washington. 

1. Bok^, Sir, in a land of liberty, having early learned 
its value, having engaged in a perilous conflict to defend 
it, having, in a word, devoted the best years of my life to 
secure its permanent establishment in my own country, — 
my anxious recollections, my sympathetic feelings, and my 
best wishes, are iresistibly excited, whensoever, in any coun- 
try, I see an oppressed Nation unfurl the banners of free- 
dom. But, above all, the events of the French Revolution 
have produced the deepest solicitude, as well as the highest 
admiration. 

2. To call your nation brave, were to pronounce but 



AND OKATORT. 245 

common praise. Wonderful People ! Ages to come will 
read with astonishment the history of your brilliant ex- 
ploits ! I rejoice that the period of your toils and of your 
immense sacrifices is approaching. I rejoice that the in- 
teresting revolutionary movements of so many years have 
issued in the formation of a Constitution designed to give 
permanency to the great object for which you have con- 
tended. 

3. I rejoice that liberty, which you have so long em- 
braced with enthusiasm, — liberty, of which you have been 
the invincible defenders, — now finds an asylum in the bosom 
of a regularly organized Government; — a Government, 
which, being formed to secure the happiness of the French 
People, corresponds with the ardent wishes of my heart, 
while it gratifies the pride of every citizen of the United 
States, by its resemblance to his own. On these glorious 
events, accept, Sir, my sincere congratulations. 

4. In delivering to you these sentiments, I express not 
my own feelings only, but those of my fellow-citizens, in 
relation to the commencement, the progress, and the issue, 
of the French Revolution ; and they will cordially join with 
me in purest wishes to the Supreme Being, that the citi- 
zens of our sister Republic, our magnanimous allies, may 
soon enjoy in peace that liberty which they have purchased 
at so great a price, and all the happiness which liberty can 
bestow. 

5. I receive, Sir, with lively sensibility, the symbol of 
the triumphs and of the enfranchisement of your Nation, 
the colors of France, which you have now presented to the 
United States. The transaction will be announced to Con- 
gress ; and the colors will be deposited with those archives 
of the United States which are at once the evidences and 
the memorials of their freedom and independence. May 
these be perpetual ! And may the friendship of the two 
Republics be commensurate with their existence ! 



246 



CXXL— MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

1. The train from out the castle drew ; 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 

" Though something I might 'plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by your King's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, — 
Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." 

2. But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 

" My manors, halls and bowers, shall still 
Be open, at my sovereign's will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my King's alone, 
From turret to foundation-stone ; — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp ! " 

3. Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, 
And shook his very frame for ire, 

And — " This to me ! " he said : 
" An'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And first I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He who does England's message here, 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! 
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 

Even in thy pitch of pride, 
Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near 
(Nay, never look upon your Lord, 
And lay your hands upon your sword !), 

I tell thee, thou'rt defied ! 
And if thou saidst I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here, 
Lowland or Highland, far or near, 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " 



AND ORATOKY. 24:7 

4. On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 

Fierce he broke forth : — " And darest thou, then, 
To beard the lion in his den,— - 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall." 

5. Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need, — 
And dashed the rowels in his steed ; 

Like arrow through the archway sprung, 
The ponderous gate behind him rung : 
To pass, there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise : 
Not lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim ; 
And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
A shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! 



CXXIL— THE DEATH OF MARMION. 

1. And soon straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen, drenched with gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken brand, 
His arms were smeared with blood and sand : 
Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
With dinted shield and helmet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone, — 
Can that be haughty Marmion ? 

2. Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
And, gazing on his ghastly face, 

Said — "By Saint George, he's gone ! 
The spear-wound has our master sped ; 



Scott. 



248 



And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marniion ! " 
" Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 
He opes bis eyes," said Eustace, " peace ! " 
When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : 

" Where's Harry Blount ? Fitz Eustace, where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ? 
Redeem my pennon ! — charge again ! 
Cry, ' Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ; 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 

With fruitless labor, Clara bound, 
And strove to stanch the gushing wound. 
The war, that for a space did fail, / 
Now, trebly thundering, swelled the gale, 

And " Stanley ! " was the cry ; 
A light on Mannion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye ; 
With dying hand, above his head 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted, " Victory ! " 
" Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! " 

Were the last words of Marmion. 



CXXIIL— MAUD MULLER. 

Maud Mullee, on a summer's day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 
Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 
Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But when she glanced to the far-off town, 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 
The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast — 
A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 
For something better than she had known. 



Whittier. 



AND ORATORY. 249 

3. The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse's chestnut mane. 
He drew his bridle in the shade 

Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid, 

And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 

Through the meadow, across the road. 

4. She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin-cup, 

And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 
" Thanks ! " said the Judge : " a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed." ■ 

5. He spoke of the grass, and flowers, and trees, 
Of the singing-birds and the humming bees ; 
Then talked of the haying, and wondered whether 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 
And Maud forgot her brier-torn gown, 

And her graceful ankles, bare and brown, 
And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-lashed hazel eyes. 
At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 

6. Maud Muller looked and sighed : " Ah me ! 
That I the Judge's bride might be ! 

He would dress me up in silks so fine, 
And praise and toast me at his wine. 
My father should wear a broadcloth coat, 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 
I'd dress my mother so grand and gay, 
And the baby should have a new toy each day. 
And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door." 

V. The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still : 
" A form more fair, a face more sweet, 
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet. 
And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 
Would she were mine, and I to-day, 
Like her, a harvester of hay : 
No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawvers with endless tongues, 
11* 



250 



But low of cattle and song of birds, 
And health, and quiet, and loving words." 

8. But he thought of his sister, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 
So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 
And Maud was left in the field alone. 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 
When he hummed in court an old love-tune ; 
And the young girl mused beside the well, 
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

9. He wedded a wife of richest dower, 
Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 
Yet oft, in his marble hearth's bright glow, 
He watched a picture come and go ; 

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

10. Oft, when the wine in his glass was red, 
He longed for the wayside well instead ; 
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms, 
To dream of meadows and clover blooms ; 
And the proud man sighed with a secret pain, — 
" Ah, that I were free again ! 

Free as when I rode that day 

Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay." 

11. She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 
And many children played round her door. 
But care and sorrow, and childbirth pain, 
Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer's sun shone hot 
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot, 
And she heard the little spring-brook fall 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 
In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein, 
And, gazing down with timid grace, 
She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

12. Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls : 
The weary wheel to a spinet turned, 
The tallow candle an astral burned ; 
And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug, 



AND ORATORY. 251 

A manly form at her side she saw, 
And joy was duty, and love was law. 
Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, " It might have been." 

13. Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge ! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all, 

Who vainly the dreams of youth recall ; 

For all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these : " It might have been ! " 

Ah, well ! for us all some sweet hope lies 

Deeply buried from human eyes ; 

And in the hereafter, angels may 

Roll the stone from its grave away. 



CXXIV.— ON RECOGNIZING THE INDEPENDENCE OF 
GREECE, 1824. 

Clay. 

1. Are we so low, so base, so despicable, that we may 
not express our horror, articulate our detestation, of the 
most brutal and atrocious war that ever stained earth, or 
shocked high Heaven, with the ferocious deeds of a brutal 
soldiery, set on by the clergy and followers of a fanatical 
and inimical religion, rioting in excess of blood and butch- 
ery, at the mere details of which the heart sickens ? If 
the great mass of Christendom can look coolly and calmly 
on, while all this is perpetrated on a Christian People, in 
their own vicinity, in their very presence, let us, at least, 
show that, in this distant extremity, there is still some sen- 
sibility and sympathy for Christian wrongs and sufferings ; 
that there are still feelings which can kindle into indigna- 
tion at the oppression of a People endeared to us by every 
ancient recollection, and every modern tie. But, Sir, it is 
not first and chiefly for Greece that I wish to see this meas- 
ure adopted. 

2. It will give them but little aid, — that aid purely of 
a moral kind. It is, indeed, soothing and solacing, in dis- 
tress, to hear the accents of a friendly voice. We know 



252 



this as a People. But, Sir, it is principally and mainly for 
America herself, for the credit and character of our com- 
mon country, that I hope to see this resolution pass : it is 
for our own unsullied name that I feel. What appearance, 
Sir, on the page of history, would a record like this make : 
— " In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and 
Saviour 1824, while all European Christendom beheld with 
cold, unfeeling apathy the unexampled wrongs and inex- 
pressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was 
made in the Congress of the United States, — almost the 
sole, the last, the greatest repository of human hope and 
of human freedom, the representatives of a Nation capable 
of bringing into the field a million of bayonets, — while the 
freemen of that Nation were spontaneously expressing its 
deep-toned feeling, its fervent prayer for Grecian success : 
while the whole Continent was rising, by one simultaneous 
motion, solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking 
the aid of Heaven to spare Greece, and to invigorate her 
arms : while temples and senate-houses were all resound- 
ing with one burst of generous sympathy ; — in the year of 
our Lord and Saviour, — that Saviour alike of Christian 
Greece and of us, — a proposition was offered in the Ameri- 
can Congress, to send a messenger to Greece, to inquire 
into her state and condition, with an expression of our good 
wishes and our sympathies ; — and it was rejected ! " 

3. Go home, if you dare, — go home, if you can, — to 
your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ! 
Meet, if you dare, the appalling countenances of those 
who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the 
declaration of your own sentiments : that, you cannot tell 
how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable ap- 
prehension, some indefinable danger, affrighted you : that 
the spectres of cimeters, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed 
before you, and alarmed you ; and, that you suppressed all 
the noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by 
National Independence, and by humanity ! I cannot bring 
myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a major- 
ity of this House. 



AND ORATORY. 253 

CXXV.— MEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FEEEDOM. 

T. B. Macaulay. 

1. There is only one cure for the evils which newly- 
acquired freedom produces, — and that cure is freedom ! 
When a prisoner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light 
of day : he is unable to discriminate colors, or recognize 
faces ; but the remedy is not to remand him into his dun- 
geon, but to accustom him to the rays of the sun. The 
blaze of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and bewilder 
Nations which have become half blind in the house of 
bondage ; but let them gaze on, and they will soon be able 
to bear it. 

2. In a few years men learn to reason : the extreme 
violence of opinion subsides : hostile theories correct each 
other : the scattered elements of truth cease to conflict, 
and begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system of justice 
and order is educed out of the chaos. Many politicians 
of our time are in the habit of laying it down as a self- 
evident proposition, that no People ought to be free till 
they are fit to use their freedom. The maxim is worthy 
of the fool in the old story, who resolved not to go into 
the water till he had learned to swim ! If men are to wait 
for liberty till they become wise and good in slavery, they 
may, indeed, wait forever ! 



CXXVI.— RAIN ON THE ROOF. 

Coates Kinney. 

1. When the humid showers gather over all the starry spheres, 
And the melancholy darkness gently weeps in rainy tears, 
'Tis a joy to press the pillow of a cottage chamber bed, 
And listen to the patter of the soft rain overhead. 

2. Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart, 
And a thousand dreary fancies into busy being start ; 

And a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into woof, 
As I listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof. 

3. There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone, 
To survey the infant sleepers ere she left them till the dawn. 



254 Wiley's elocution 

I can see her bending o'er me, as I listen to the strain 
Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain. 

4. Then my little seraph sister, with her wings and waving hair, 
And her bright-eyed, cherub brother — a serene, angelic pair — 
Glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise or mild reproof, 
As I listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof. 

ij. And another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue. 
I forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all untrue : 
I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may love again, 
And my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter of the rain. 

G. There is naught in art's bravuras that can work with such a spell, 
In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the holy passions swell, 
As that melody of nature — that subdued, subduing strain, 
Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain ! 



CXXVII.— THE SHIPWRECK. 

Bvnox. 
At half-past eight o'clock, booms, ben-coops, spars, 

And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, 
Still could keep afloat I tag tars ; 

For yet they strove, although of no great use. 
There was no light in heaven but a few - 

The boats put off, o'ercrowded with th< 
She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, 
And going down head-foremost — sunk, in short. 
Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell ; . 

Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the brave ; 
Then some leaped overboard, with dreadful yell, 

As eager to anticipate their grave ; 
And the sea yawned around her like a hell ; 

And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, 
Like one who grapples with his enemy, 
And strives to strangle him before he die. 
And first a universal shriek there rushed, 

Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash 
Of echoing thunder ; and then all was hushed, 
:he wild wind and the remorseless dash 
Of billows ; but at intervals there gushed, 

Accompanied with a convulsive splash, 
A solitary shriek : the bubbling cry 
Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 



AXD ORATORY. 255 

CXXYIIL— I0ECE OE HABIT. 

Charles A. "Wiley. 

1. In the Arctic ocean near the coast of Xorway is 
situated the famous Maelstrom or whirlpool. Many are 
the goodly ships that have been caught in its circling 
power, and plunged into the depths below. On a fine 
spring morning, near the shore opposite, are gathered a 
company of peasants. The winter and the long night have 
passed away; and. in accordance with their ancient custom, 
they are holding a greeting to the return of the sunlight, 
and the verdure of spring. Under a green shade are 
spread, in abundance, all the luxuries their pleasant homes 
could afford. In the grove at one side are heard the strains 
of music, and the light step of the dance. 

2. At the shore lies a beautiful boat, and a party near 
are preparing for a ride. Soon all things are in readiness, 
and, amid the cheers of their companions on shore, they 
push gayly away. The day is beautiful, and they row on, 
and on. Weary, at length, they drop their oars to rest; 
but they perceive their boat to be still moving. Somewhat 
surprised, — soon it occurs to them that they are under the 
influence of the whirlpool. 

3. Moving slowly and without an effort — presently faster, 
at length the boat glides along with a movement far more 
delightful than with oars. Their friends from the shore per- 
ceive the boat moving, and see no working of the oars, — 
it flashes upon their minds — they are evidently within the 
circles of the maelstrom. When the boat comes near they 
call to them, " Beware of the whirlpool ! " But they laugh 
at fear. — they are too happy to think of returning : " When 
we see there is danger then we will return." Oh, that 
some good angel would come with warning unto them, 
"Unless ye now turn back ye cannot be saved.-*' Like as 
the voice of God comes to the soul of the impenitent, 
" Unless ye mend your ways ye cannot be saved." 

4. The boat is now going at a fearful rate; but, deceived 
by the moving waters, they are unconscious of its rapidity. 



256 



They hear the hollow rumbling at the whirlpool's centre. 
The voices from the shore are no longer audible, but every 
effort is being used to warn them of their danger. They 
now, for the first time, become conscious of their situation, 
and head the boat towards shore. But, like a leaf in the 
autumn gale, she quivers under the power of the whirlpool. 
Fear drives them to frenzy ! Two of the strongest seize 
the oars, and ply them with all their strength, and the boat 
moves towards the shore. "With joy they cherish hope ! 
and some, for the first time in all their lives, now give thanks 
to God, — that they are saved. But, suddenly, crash ! goes 
an oar ! and such a shriek goes up from that ill-fated band, 
as can only be heard when a spirit lost drops into perdition ! 

5. The boat whirls again into its death-marked channel 
and skips on with the speed of the wind. The roar at the 
centre grinds on their ears, like the grating of prison doors 
on the ears of the doomed. Clearer, more deafening is that 
dreadful roar, as nearer and still nearer the vessel approach- 
es the centre ! then, whirling for a moment on that awful 
brink, she plunges with her freight of human souls into 
that dreadful yawning hollow, where their bodies shall lie 
in their watery graves till the sea gives up its dead ! 

6. And so, every year, aye, every month, thousands, 
passing along in the boat of life, enter almost unaware 
the fatal circles of the wine-cup. And, notwithstanding 
the earnest voices of anxious friends, " Beware of the 
gutter! of the grave! of hell! " they continue their course 
until the " force of habit " overpowers them ; and, cursing 
and shrieking, they whirl for a time on the crater of the 
maelstrom, and are plunged below ! 



CXXIX.— POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

1. — From Golden Legend. 
1. The Life which is, and that which is to come, 
Suspended haug in such nice equipoisi 



=e 



AND OEATORY. 257 

A breath disturbs the balance ; and that scale 
In which we throw our hearts preponderates, 
And the other, like an empty one, flies up, 
And is accounted vanity and air ! 

2. — Feom Longfellow. 
1. In ancient records it is stated 

That, whenever an evil deed is done, 

Another devil is created 

To scourge and torment the offending one ! 

But evil is only good perverted, 

And Lucifer, the Bearer of Light, 

But an angel fallen and deserted, 

Thrust from his Father's house with a curse 

Into the black and endless night. 

3. — Count de Cabka. 
1. A gentleman who assisted the Count de Cabra in 
putting on his armor before the battle, perceiving him 
tremble, asked what could cause this emotion in a man of 
such known bravery ? The Count answered : " My flesh 
trembles at the danger into which my soul will lead it." 

4. — An Enemy's Gift. 
1. When the Crusaders under King Richard, of Eng- 
land, defeated the Saracens, the sultan, seeing his troops 
fly, asked what was the number of the Christians who were 
making all this slaughter ? He was told that it was only 
King Richard and his men, and they were all afoot.' 
" Then," said the Sultan, " God forbid that such a noble 
fellow as King Richard should march on foot," and sent 
him a noble charger. The messenger took it, and said : 
" Sir, the Sultan sends you this charger, in order that you 
may not be on foot." The King was cunning as his enemy, 
and ordered one of his squires to mount the horse, in order 
to try him. The squire did so ; but the animal was fiery, 
and he could not hold him : he set off at full speed to the 
Sultan's pavilion. The Sultan expected he had got King 



258 



Richard, and was not a little mortified to discover his 
mistake. 

5. — The Power of Love. 

SlIAXSPEARE. 

I. But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, 
Lives not alone immured in the brain ; 
But with the motion of all elements, 
Courses as swift as thought in every power ; 
And gives to every power a double power, 
Above their functions and their offices. 
It adds a precious seeing to the eye : 
A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; 
A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, 
When the suspicious head of theft is stopped : 
Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, 
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails : 
Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste ; 
For valor, is not love a Uercules, 
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides ? 
Subtle as sphinx, as sweet and musical 
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair ; 
And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods, 
Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. 
Never durst poet touch a pen to write, 
Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs : 
0, then his lines would ravish savage ears, 
And plant in tyrants mild humility. 

6. — IMPERISHABILITY OE GREAT EXAMPLES. 

Edward Everett. 
1. To be cold and breathless, — to feel not and speak 
not, — this is not the end of existence to the men who have 
breathed their spirits into the institutions of their country, 
who have stamped their characters on the pillars of the 
age, who have poured their hearts' blood into the channels 
of the public prosperity. Tell me, ye who tread the sods 
of yon sacred height, is Warren dead ? Can you not still 
see him, not pale and prostrate, the blood of his gallant heart 
pouring out of his ghastly wound, but moving resplendent 
over the field of honor, with the rose of Heaven upon his 
cheek, and the fire of liberty in his eye ? 



AND OKATORY. 259 

2. Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the 
shades of Yernon, is Washington, indeed, shut up in that 
cold and narrow house ? That which made these men, and 
men like these, cannot die. The hand that traced the 
charter of Independence is, indeed, motionless; the eloquent 
lips that sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that 
conceived, resolved, and maintained it, and which alone, to 
such men, " make it life to live," these cannot expire : 

" These shall resist the empire of decay, 
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away : 
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie, 
But that which warmed it once can never die." 



Pope. 



1. — YlCE. 

1. Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen ; 
But, seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 

8. — Fkom Hiawatha's Wooing. 

Longfellow. 
1. And the ancient arrow maker 
Turned again unto his labor, 
Sat down by his sunny doorway, 
Murmuring to himself, and saying: 
" Thus it is our daughters leave us, 
Those we love, and those who love us ! 
Just when they have learned to help us, 
When we are old and lean upon them, 
Comes a youth with flaunting feathers, 
With his flute of reed, a stranger 
Wanders piping through the village, 
Beckons to the fairest maiden, 
And she follows where he leads her, 
LeaTing all things for the stranger ! " 

9. — The Lunatic, the Lovee, and the Poet. 

Shakspeake. 
1. The lunatic, the lover, and the poet 
Are of imagination all compact. 
One sees more devils than vast hell can hold : 



260 



That is the madman : the lover, all as frantic, 

Sees Helen's beauty in a brow of Egypt : 

The poet's eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, 

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven ; 

And, as imagination bodies forth 

The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen 

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing 

A local habitation and a name. 



CXXX.— LA FAYETTE'S LAST VISIT TO AMERICA. 

J. T. Headley. 

1. Again, in his old age,* La Fayette determined to 
look on the young Republic that had escaped the disasters 
which had overwhelmed France. When his plans wero 
made known, our government offered to place a national 
vessel at his disposal ; but he declined accepting it, and em- 
barked at Havre in a merchantman, and arrived at New 
York, August 15, 1824. His reception in this country, and 
triumphal march through it, is one of the most remarkable 
events in the history of the world. Such gratitude and un- 
bounded affection were never before received by a man 
from a foreign nation. 

2. As he passed from Staten Island to New York, the 
bay was covered with gay barges decorated with streamers ; 
and when the beautiful fleet shoved away, the bands struck 
up, " Where can one better be, than in the bosom of his 
family ? " Never did this favorite French air seem so ap- 
propriate, — not even when the shattered Old Guard closed 
sternly around its Emperor, and sang it amid the fire of the 
enemy's guns, — as when a free people thus chanted it 
around the venerable La Fayette. 

3. As he touched the shore, the thunder of cannon 
shook the city, — old soldiers rushed weeping into his arms ; 
and " Welcome La Fayette ! " waved from every banner, 
rung from every trumpet, and was caught up by every 

* La Fayette was sixty-3evcn years of age at the time of his last visit to America. 



AND OKATORY. 261 

voice, till " Welcome, Welcome ! " rose and fell in deafen- 
ing shouts from the assembled thousands. During the four 
days he remained in the city, it was one constant jubilee ; 
and when he left for Boston, all along his route, the people 
rose to welcome him. 

4. He traveled every night till twelve o'clock, and 
watch-fires were kept burning on the hill-tops, along his 
line of progress. Blazing through the darkness, they out- 
shone the torches that heralded him : while in the distance 
the pealing bells from every church spire, announced his com- 
ing. The same enthusiastic joy awaited him at Boston ; 
and when he returned to New York, the city was wilder 
than ever with excitement. - 

5. In Castle-Garden there was a splendid illumination in 
honor of him : the bridge leading to it was surmounted by 
a pyramid sixty feet high, with a blazing star at the top, 
from the center of which flashed the name of La Fayette. 
The planks were covered with carpets, and trees and flow- 
ers innumerable lined the passage. Over the entrance was 
a triumphal arch of flowers,-^huge columns arose from the 
area, supporting arches of flowers, and flags, and statues. 
As he entered this wilderness of beauty, the bands struck 
up, " See the conquering hero comes," and shouts shook the 
edifice to its foundation. 

6. He had scarcely taken his seat in a splendid marquee 
prepared for his reception, when the curtain before the gal- 
lery, in front of him, lifted, — and there was a beautiful 
transparency, representing La Grange, with its grounds and 
towers, and beneath it, " This is his home." Nothing 
could be more touching and affectionate than this device ; 
and as La Fayette's eye fell upon it, a tear was seen to 
gather there, and his lip to quiver with feeling. 

f 7. Thus the people received the "people's friend." 
From New York he went to Albany and Troy, and one 
long shout of welcome rolled the length of the Hudson, as 
he floated up the noble stream. After visiting other cities, 
and receiving similar demonstrations of gratitude, he turned 



262 



his steps toward Mount Vernon, to visit the tomb of 
Washington. The thunder of cannon announced his arrival 
at the consecrated ground, calling to his mind the time 
when he had seen that now lifeless chieftain, move through 
the tumult of battle, 

8. Wishing no one to witness his emotions, as he stood 
beside the ashes of his friend, he descended alone into the 
vault. With trembling steps, and uncovered head, he 
passed down to the tomb. The secrets of that meeting 
of the living with the dead, no one knows; but when 
the aged veteran came forth again, his face was covered 
with tears. He then took his son and secretary by the 
hand, and led them into the vault. He could not speak, — 
his bursting heart was too full for utterance, and he mutely 
pointed to the coffin of Washington. They knelt rever- 
ently beside it, then rising threw themselves into La Fay- 
ette's arms, and burst into tears. It was a touching scene, 
there in the silent vault, and worthy the noble sleeper. 

9. Thence he went to Yorktown, and then proceeded 
South, passed through all the principal cities to New Or- 
leans, and thence up the Mississippi to Cincinnati and 
across to Pittsburg. Wherever he went the entire nation 
rose to do him homage. " Honor to La Fayette," " Wel- 
come to La Fayette, the nation's guest," and such like ex- 
clamations had met him at every step. Flowers were 
strewed along his pathway : his carriage detached from the 
horses, and drawn by the enthusiastic crowd, along ranks 
of grateful freemen who rent the heavens with their accla- 
mations. Melted to tears by these demonstrations of love, 
he had moved like a father amid his children, scattering 
blessings wherever he went. 

10. One of his last acts in this country, was to lay the 
corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument. It was fit that 
he, the last survivor of the major-generals of the American 
Revolution, should consecrate the first block in that grand 
structure. Amid the silent attention of fifty thousand spec- 
tators, this aged veteran, and friend of Washington, with 



AND OEATOKY. 263 

uncovered head, performed the imposing ceremonies, and, 
"Long live La Fayette," swelled up from the top of 
Bunker Hill. 



CXXXL— ADVERTISEMENT OF A LOST DAY. 

Mrs. Sigourney. 

1. Lost! lost! lost! 

A gem of countless price, 
Cut from the living rock, 

And graved in Paradise. 
Set round with three times eight 

Large diamonds, clear and bright, 
And each with sixty smaller ones, 

All changeful as the light. 

2. Lost, — where the thoughtless throng 

In fashion's mazes wind, 
Where trilleth folly's song, 

Leaving a sting behind : 
Yet to my hand 'twas given 

A golden harp to buy, 
Such as the white-robed choir attune 

To deathless minstrelsy. 

8. Lost! lost! lost! 

I feel all search is vain : 
That gem of countless cost 

Can ne'er be mine again : 
I offer no reward, 

For till these heart-strings sever, 
I know that Heaven-intrusted gift 

Is reft away forever. 

4. But when the sea and land, 

Like burning scroll have fled, 
I'll see it in His hand, 

Who judgeth quick and dead ; 
And when of scathe and loss, 

That man can ne'er repair, 
The dread inquiry meets my soul, 

What shall it answer there ? 



264 



CXXXII.-CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. 

Addison. 

1. It must be so. — Plato, thou reasoncst well, 
Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, 
Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul 
Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us, 
'Tis Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, 
And intimates eternity to man. 

2. Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being, 

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 

The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 

But shadows, clouds and darkness, rest upon it. 

Here will I hold. If there's a Power above us, — 

And that there is, all Nature cries aloud 

Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue ; 

And that which He delights in must be happy. 

But when ? or where ? This world was made for Caesar. 

I'm weary of conjectures, — this must end 'em. 

3. Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life, 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 

This in a moment brings me to my end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grow dim with age, and Nature sink in years, 
But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amid the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 



CXXXIIL— CATILINE TO HIS FRIENDS, AFTER FAILING IN HIS 
ELECTION TO THE CONSULSHIP. 

Rev. George Croly. 
1. Are there not times, Patricians, when great States 
Rush to their ruin ? Rome is no more like Rome, 
Than a foul dungeon's like the glorious sky. 



AtTD OEATGEY. 265 

What is she now ? Degenerate, gross, denied, 
The tainted haunt, the gorged receptacle, 
Of every slave and vagabond of earth : 
A mighty grave that Luxury has dug, 
To rid the other realms of pestilence ! 

Ye wait to hail me Consul ? 
Consul ! Look on me, — on this brow, — these hands, 
Look on this bosom, black with early wounds : 
Have I not served the State from boyhood up, 
Scattered my blood for her, labored for, loved her ? 
/had no chance: wherefore should I be Consul? 
No. Cicero still is master of the crowd. 
Why not ? He's made for them, and they for him, 
They want a sycophant, and he wants slaves. 
Well, let him have them ! 

2. Patricians ! They have pushed me to the gulf, 
I have worn down my heart, wasted my means, 
Humbled my birth, bartered my ancient name, 
For the rank favor of the senseless mass, 

That frets and festers in your Commonwealth, — 

And now — 

The very men with whom I walked through life, 

Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds 

Of courtesy and high companionship, 

This day, as if the Heavens had stamped me black, 

Turned on their heel, just at the point of fate, 

Left me a mockery in the rabble's midst, 

And followed their Plebeian Consul, Cicero ! 

This was the day to which I looked through life, 

And it has failed me — vanished from my grasp, 

Like air ! 

3. Roman no more ! The rabble of the streets 
Have seen me humbled : slaves may gibe at me, 
For all the ills 

That chance or nature lays upon our heads, 
In chance or nature there is found a cure ! 
But se/f-abasement is beyond all cure ! 
The brand is here, burned in the living flesh, 
That bears its mark to the grave ; that dagger's plunged 
Into the central pulses of the heart : 
• The act is the mind's suicide, for which 
There is no after health, no hope, no pardon ! 
12 



266 



CXXXIV.— CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. 

Rev. George Croly. 
Conscript Fathers ! 
I do not rise to waste the night in words : 
Let that Plebeian talk : 'tis not my trade ; 
But here I stand for right, — let him show proofs, — 
For Roman right ; though none, it seems, dare stand 
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there ! 
Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves! 
His charge is false ; — I dare him to his proofs. 
You have my answer. Let my actions speak ! 

But this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ! 
Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword, 
Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
The gates of honor on me, — turning out 
The Roman from his birthright; and, for what? 

[Looking round him. 
To fling your offices to every slave ! 
"Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, 
And, having wound their loathsome track to the top, 
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome, 
Hang hissing at the nobler men below ! 

Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones ; 

[ To the Senate. 
Fling down your sceptres : take the rod and axe, 
And make the murder as you make the law ! 

" Banished from Rome ! " What's banished, but set free 
From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 
" Tried and convicted traitor ! " Who says this ? 
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 
" Banished ! " I thank you for't. It breaks my chain ! 
I held some slack allegiance till this hour ; 
But now my sword's my own. Smile on, my Lords ! 
I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 
To leave you to your lazy dignities. 
But here I stand and scoff you ! here, I fling 
Hatred and full defiance in your face ! 
Tour Consul's merciful. — For this, all thanks. 
He olares not touch a hair of Catiline ! 



AND OBATORY. 267 

" Traitor ! " I go ; but, I return. This— trial ! 
Here I devote your Senate ! I've had wrongs 
To stir a fever in the blood of age, 
Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. 
This day's the birth of sorrow ! This hour's work 
"Will breed proscriptions ! Look to your hearths, my Lords ! 
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, 
Shapes hot from Tartarus ! — all shames and crimes 
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn : 
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup : 
Naked Kebellion, with the torch and axe, 
Making his wild sport of your blazing Thrones ; 
Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 
And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. 

I go ; but not to leap the gulf alone. 
I go ; but, when I come, 't will be the burst 
Of ocean in the earthquake, — rolling back 
In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well : 
You build my funeral-pile ; but your best blood 
Shall quench its flame ! Back, slaves ! [To the Zictors.] 
I will return. 



CXXXY.— ADDRESS OF BLACK HAWK TO GENERAL STREET. 

1. You have taken me prisoner, with all my warriors. 
I am much grieved ; for I expected, if I did not defeat you, 
to hold out much longer, and give you more trouble, "before 
I surrendered. I tried hard to bring you into ambush, but 
your last General understood Indian fighting. I deter- 
mined to rush on you, and fight you face to face. I fought 
hard. But your guns were well aimed. The bullets flew 
like birds in the air, and whizzed by our ears like the wind 
through the trees in winter. My warriors fell around me : 
it began to look dismal. I saw my evil day at hand. The 
sun rose dim on us in the morning, and at night it sank in 
a dark cloud, and looked like a ball of fire. That was the 
last sun that shone on Black Hawk. His heart is dead, 
and no longer beats quick in his bosom. He is now a 
prisoner to the white men : they will do with him as they 



268 



wish. But he can stand torture, and is not afraid of death. 
He is no coward. Black Hawk is an Indian. 

2. He has done nothing for which an Indian ought to 
be ashamed. He has fought for his countrymen, against 
white men, who came, year after year, to cheat them, and 
take away their lands. You know the cause of our making 
war. It is known to all white men. They ought to be 
ashamed of it. The white men despise the Indians, and 
drive them from their homes. They smile in the face of 
the poor Indian, to cheat him : they shake him by the 
hand, to gain his confidence, to make him drunk, and to 
deceive him. We told them to let us alone, and keep away 
from us ; but they followed on and beset our paths, and 
they coiled themselves among us like the snake. They 
poisoned us by their touch. We were not safe. We 
lived in danger. We looked up to the Great Spirit. We 
went to our father. We were encouraged. His great 
council gave us fair words and big promises ; but we got 
no satisfaction : things were growing worse. There were 
no deer in the forest. The opossum and beaver were fled. 
The springs were drying up, and our squaws and papooses 
without victuals to keep them from starving. 

3. We called a great council, and built a large fire. 
The spirit of our fathers arose, and spoke to us to avenge 
our wrongs or die. We set up the war-whoop, and dug 
up the tomahawk : our knives were ready, and the heart of 
Black Hawk swelled high in his bosom, when he led his 
warriors to battle. He is satisfied. He will go to the 
world of spirits contented. He has done his duty. His 
father will meet him there, and commend him. Black 
Hawk is a true Indian, and disdains to cry like a woman. 
He feels for his wife, his children, and his friends. But he 
does not care for himself. He cares for the Nation and 
the Indians. They will suffer. He laments their fate. 
Farewell, my Nation ! Black Hawk tried to save you, and 
avenge your wrongs. He drank the blood of some of the 
whites. He has been taken prisoner, and his plans are 



AND ORATOEY. 269 

crushed. He can do no more. He is near his end. His 
sun is setting, and he will rise no more. Farewell to Black 
Hawk! 



CXXXVI.— WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

J. S. Knowles. 

1. Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! 
I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 

A spirit in your echoes answer me, 

And bid your tenant welcome to his home 

Again ! — sacred forms, how proud you look! 

How high you lift your heads into the sky ! 

How huge you are ! how mighty, and how free ! 

Ye are the things that tower, that shine, — whose smile 

Makes glad, whose frown is terrible, whose forms, 

Kobed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 

Of awe divine. 

2. Ye guards of liberty, 
I'm with you once again ! — I call to you 
With all my voice ! — I hold my hands to you, 
To show they still are free. I rush to you 
As though I could embrace you ! 

Scaling yonder peak, 
I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow 
O'er the abyss : his broad-expanded wings 
Lay calm and motionless upon the air, 
As if he floated there without their aid, 
By the sole act of his unlorded will 
That buoyed him proudly up. 

3. $ Instinctively 
I bent my bow ; yet kept he rounding still 
His airy circle, as in the delight 

Of measuring the ample range beneath 

And round about : absorbed, he heeded not 

The death that threatened him. I could not shoot ! — 

'T was liberty ! — I turned my bow aside, 

And let him soar away ! 



270 



CXXXVIL— MOUNT TABOR. 

J. T. Eeadley. 

1 . Forty-seven years ago, a form was seen standing on 
Mount Tabor, with which the world has since become 
familiar. It was a bright spring morning, and as he sat on 
his steed in the clear sunlight, his eye rested on a scene in 
the vale below, which was sublime and appalling enough to 
quicken the pulsations of the calmest heart. That form 
was Napoleon Bonaparte ; and the scene before him, the 
fierce and terrible " Battle of Mount Tabor." 

2. From Nazareth, where the Saviour once trod, Kleber 
had marched with three thousand French soldiers forth into 
the plain, when lo ! at the foot of Mount Tabor he saw the 
whole Turkish army, drawn up in order of battle. Fifteen 
thousand infantry and twelve thousand splendid cavalry 
moved down in majestic strength on this band of three 
thousand French. Kleber had scarcely time to throw his 
handful of men into squares, with the cannon at the angles, 
before those twelve thousand horse, making the earth 
smoke and thunder as they came, burst in a headlong gallop 
upon them. 

3. But round those steady squares rolled a fierce devour- 
ing fire, emptying the saddles of those wild horsemen with 
frightful rapidity, and strewing the earth with the bodies 
of riders and steeds together. Again and again did those 
splendid squadrons wheel, re-form and charge with deafen- 
ing shouts, while their uplifted and flashing cimeters gleam- 
ed like a forest of steel through the smoke of battle ; but 
that same wasting fire received them, thr those squares 
seemed bound by a girdle of flame, so rapid and constant 
were the discharges. Before their certain and deadly aim, 
as they stood fighting for existence, the charging squadrons 
fell so fast that a rampart of dead bodies was soon formed 
around them. Behind this embankment of dead men and 
horses, this band of warriors stood and fought for six dread- 
ful hours, and was still steadily thinning the ranks of the 



AND ORATORY. 271 

enemy, when Napoleon debouched with a single division 
on Mount Tabor, and turned his eye below. 

4. What a scene met his gaze ! The whole plain was 
filled with marching columns and charging squadrons of 
wildly galloping steeds, while the thunder of cannon and 
fierce rattle of musketry, amid which now and then was 
heard the blast of thousands of trumpets, and strains of 
martial music filled the air. The smoke of battle was roll- 
ing furiously over the hosts, and all was confusion and 
chaos in his sight. Amid the twenty-seven thousand Turks 
that crowded the plain, and enveloped their enemy like a 
cloud, and amid the incessant discharge of artillery and 
musketry, Napoleon could tell where his own brave troops 
were struggling, only by the steady simultaneous volleys 
which showed how discipline was contending with the wild 
valor of overpowering numbers. The constant flashes from 
behind that rampart of dead bodies, were like spots of 
flame on the tumultuous and chaotic field. 

5. Napoleon descended from Mount Tabor with his 
little band, while a single twelve-pounder, fired from the 
hights, told the wearied Kleber that he was rushing to the 
rescue. Then for the first time he took the offensive, and 
pouring his enthusiastic followers on the foe, carried death 
and terror over the field. Thrown into confusion, and 
trampled under foot, that mighty army rolled turbulently 
back toward the Jordan, where Mttrat was anxiously wait- 
ing to mingle in the fight. Dashing with his cavalry among 
the disordered ranks, he sabered them down without mercy, 
and raged like a lion amid the prey. This chivalric and 
romantic warrior declared that the remembrance of the 
scenes that once transpired on Mount Tabor, and on these 
thrice consecrated spots, came to him in the hottest of the 
fight, and nerved him with ten-fold courage. As the sun 
went down over the plains of Palestine, and twilight shed 
its dim ray over the rent, and trodden, and dead-covered 
field, a sulphurous cloud hung around the summit of Mount 
Tabor. The smoke of battle had settled there where once 



272 

the cloud of glory rested, while groans, and shrieks, and 
cries, rent the air. Nazareth, Jordan, and Mount Tabor ! 
what spots for battle-fields ! 



CXXXVIIL— MOUNT TABOR. -Continued. 

J. T. Headley. 

1. Roll back eighteen centuries, and again view that 
Mount. The day is bright and beautiful, as on the day of 
battle, and the same rich oriental landscape is smiling in 
the same sun. There is Nazareth, with its busy population, 
— the same Nazareth, from which Kleber marched his 
army; and there is Jordan, rolling its bright waters along, 
— the same Jordan, along whose banks charged the glitter- 
ing squadrons of Murat's cavalry ; and there is Mount 
Tabor, — the same, on which Bonaparte stood with his 
cannon ; and the same beautiful plain where rolled the 
smoke of battle, and struggled thirty thousand men in 
mortal combat. 

2. But how different is the scene that is passing there. 
The Son of God stands on that hight, and casts his eye 
over the quiet valley, through which Jordan winds its 
silvery current. Three friends are beside Him. They have 
walked together up the toilsome way, and now they stand, 
mere specks on the distant summit. Far away to the 
north-west, shines the blue Mediterranean : all around is 
the great plain of Esdraelon and Galilee : eastward the lake 
of Tiberias dots the landscape, while Mount Carmel lifts its 
naked summit in the distance. 

3. But the glorious landscape at their feet. is forgotten 
in a sublimer scene that is passing before them. The son 
of Mary — the carpenter of Nazareth — the wanderer, with 
whom they have travelled on foot many a weary league, in 
all the intimacy of companions and friends, begins to 
change before their eyes. Over his garments is spreading 
a strange light, steadily brightening into intenser beauty, 



AND ORATORY. 273 

till that form glows with such splendor that it seems to 
waver to and fro, and dissolve in the still radiance. 

4. The three astonished friends gaze on it in speechless 
admiration, then turn to that familiar face. But lo ! a 
greater change has passed over it. That sad and solemn 
countenance which has been so often seen stooping over the 
couch of the dying, entering the door of the hut of poverty, 
passing through the streets of Jerusalem, and pausing by 
the weary way-side — aye, bedewed with the tears of pity, 
— now burns like the sun in his mid-day splendor. Meek- 
ness has given way to majesty, — sadness, to dazzling glory, 
— the look of pity, to the grandeur of a God. 

5. The still radiance of Heaven sits on that serene brow, 
and all around that divine form flows an atmosphere of 
strange and wondrous beauty. Heaven has poured its 
brightness over that consecrated spot, and on the beams of 
light, which glitter there, Moses and Elias have descended, 
and, wrapped in the same shining vestments, stand beside 
him. Wonder follows wonder, for those three glittering 
forms are talking with each other, and amid the thrilling 
accents are heard the words, " Mount Olivet," " Calvary ! " 
— " the agony and the death of the crucifixion ! " 

6. No wonder a sudden fear came over Peter, that 
paralyzed his tongue, and crushed him- to the earth, when, 
in the midst of his speech, he saw a cloud descend like a 
falling star from heaven, and, bright and dazzling, balance 
itself over those forms of light, while from its bright fold- 
ings came a voice, saying, "This is my beloved Son, in 
whom I am well pleased, hear ye Him ! " How long the 
vision lasted we can not tell ; but all that night did Jesus, 
with his friends, stay on that lonely mountain. Of the 
conversation that passed between them there, we know 
nothing;. but little sleep, we imagine, visited their eyes that 
night ; and as they sat on the high summit, and watched 
the stars, as they rose one after another above the horizon, 
and gazed on the moon as she poured her light over the 
dim and darkened landscape, words were spoken, that 

12* 



274 

seemed born of Heaven, and truths never to be forgotten 
were uttered in the ears of the subdued and reverent 
disciples. 

7. O, how different is Heaven and earth ! Can there 
be a stronger contrast than the Battle and Transfigura- 
tion of Mount Tabor ? One shudders to think of Bona- 
parte and the Son of God on the same mountain, — one 
with his wasting cannon by his side, and the other with 
Moses and Elias just from Heaven. But no after desecra- 
tion can destroy the first consecration of Mount Tabor ; 
for, surrounded with the glory of Heaven, and honored 
with the wondrous scene of the Transfiguration, it stands 
a sacred mountain on the earth. 



CXXXIX. -REFLECTIONS FROM THE SUMMIT OF AN EGYPTIAN 
PYRAMID. 

1. Throned oa the sepulcher of mighty kings, 

Whose dust in solemn silence sleeps below, 
Till that great day, when sublunary things 

Shall pass away, e'en as the April bow 
Fades from the gazer's eyes, and leaves no trace 
Of its bright colors, or its former place : 

2. I gaze in sadness o'er the scenery wild : 

On scattered groups of palms, and seas of sand : 
On the wide desert, and the desert's child : 

On ruins made by Time's destructive hand : 
On temples, towers, and columns now laid low, — 
A land of crime, of tyranny, and woe. 

3. Egypt ! Egypt ! how art thou debased ! 

A Moslem slave upon Busiris' throne ! 
And all thy splendid monuments defaced ! 

Long, long beneath his iron rod shall groan 
Thy hapless children : thou hast had thy day, 
And all thy glories now have passed away. 

4. ! could thy princely dead rise from their graves, 

And view with me the changes Time has wrought, — 
A land of ruins, and a race of slaves, 

Where wisdom flourished, and where sages taught, 



AND ORATORY. 275 

A scene of desolation, mental night ! — 

How would they shrink with horror from the sight ! 

5. Ancient of days ! nurse of fair science, arts ! 

All that refines and elevates mankind ! 
Where are thy palaces, and where thy marts, 

Thy glorious cities, and thy men of mind? 
Forever gone ! — the very names they bore, 
The sites they occupied, are now no more. 

6. But why lament, since such must ever be 

The fate of human greatness, human pride ? 
E'en those who mourn the loudest over thee, 

Are drifting headlong down the rapid tide 
That sweeps, resistless, to the yawning grave, 
All that is great and good, or wise and brave. 

V. E'en thou, proud fabric ! whence I now survey 

Scenes so afflicting to the feeling heart, 
Despite thy giant strength, must sink the prey 

Of hoary age, and all thy fame depart ; 
In vain thy head, aspiring, scales the sky : 
Prostrate in dust that lofty head must lie. 

8. The soul alone, — the precious boon of Heaven, — 
Can fearless brave of time and fate the rage, 

When to thy deep foundations thou art riven, 
Yea, Egypt ! blotted from th' historic page, 

She shall survive, shall ever, ever bloom, 

In radiant youth, triumphant o'er the tomb. 






CXL.— ROMANTIC STORY. 

1. There is a cavern in the island of Hoonga, one of 
the Tonga islands, in the South Pacific Ocean, which can 
only be entered by diving into the sea, and which has no 
other light, than that which is reflected from the bottom 
of the water. A young chief discovered it accidentally, 
while diving after a turtle, and the use which he made of 
his discovery, will probably be sung in more than one 
European language, so beautifully is it adapted for a tale 
in verse. 

2. There was a tyrannical governor at Yavaoo, against 



276 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

whom one of the chiefs formed a plan of insurrection. It 
was betrayed, and the chief, with all his family and kin, 
was ordered to be destroyed. He had a beautiful daugh- 
ter, betrothed to a chief of high rank, and she also was 
included in the sentence. The youth who had found the 
cavern, and had kept the secret to himself, loved this dam 
sel. He told her the danger in time, and persuaded her to 
trust to him. They got into a canoe : the place of her re- 
treat was described to her on the way to it, — these women 
swim like mermaids, — she dived after him, and rose in the 
cavern. In the widest part it is about fifty feet : its me- 
dium hight being about the same, and it is hung with sta 
lactites. 

3. Here, he brought her the choicest food, the finest 
clothing, mats for her bed, and sandal oil to perfume her- 
self with. Here, he visited her as often as was consistent 
with prudence, and here, as may be imagined, this Tonga 
Leander, wooed and won the maid, whom, to make the 
interest complete, he had long loved in secret, when he had 
no hope. Meantime he prepared, with all his dependents, 
male and female, to emigrate in secret to the Fiji islands. 

4. The intention was so well concealed, that they em- 
barked in safety, and his people asked him, at the point of 
their departure, if he would not take with him a Tonga 
wife ; and, accordingly, to their great astonishment, hav- 
ing steered close to the rock, he desired them to wait while 
he went into the sea to fetch her, jumped overboard, and 
just as they were beginning to be seriously alarmed at his 
long disappearance, he rose with his mistress from the 
water. This story is not deficient in that which all such 
stories should have, to be perfectly delightful — a fortunate 
conclusion. The party remained at the Fijis till the op- 
pressor died, and then returned to Vavaoo, where they en- 
joyed a long and happy life. 



AND ORATORY. 277 

CXLL— THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES. 

Jane Taylor. 

1. A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er, 

In the depth of his cell with his stone-covered floor, 

Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, 

Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain ; 

But whether by magic's or alchemy's powers, 

We know not, — indeed, 'tis no business of ours. 

Perhaps, it was only by patience and care, 

At last, that he brought his invention to bear ; 

In youth 'twas projected, but years stole away, 

And ere 'twas complete, he was wrinkled and gray ; 

But success is secure, unless energy fails ; 

And, at length, he produced the philosopher's scales. 

2. " What were they ? " you ask, — you shall presently see : 
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea, — 

no ; for such properties wondrous had they, 
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts, they could weigh : 
Together with articles small or immense, 
From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense. 
Naught was there so bulky, but there it would lay, 
And naught so ethereal, but there it would stay, 
And naught so reluctant, but in it must go : 
All which some examples more clearly will show. 

3. The first thing he weighed was the head of Yoltaire, 
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there : 
As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf, 
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief : 
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell, 
That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell. 
One time, he put in Alexander the Great, 

With a garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight, 
And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown, 
The hero rose up, and the garment went down. 

4. A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed 
By a well esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud, 
Next loaded one scale : while the other was prest 
By those mites the poor widow dropt into the chest : 
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce, 

And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce. 

By further experiments, (no matter how,) 

He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow ; 



278 wi^ey's elocution 

A sword with gilt trapping rose up in the scale, 
Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail : 
A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear, 
"Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear. 

5. A lord and a lady went up at full sail, 

When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale : 
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl, 
Ten counselors' wigs, full of powder and curl, 
All heaped in one balance and swinging from thence, 
Weighed less than a few grains of candor and sense : 
A first water diamond, with brilliants begirt, 
Than one good potato, just washed from the dirt : 
Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice, 
One pearl to outweigh, 'twas the pearl of great price. 

6. Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate, 
With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight, 
When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff, 
That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof; 
When, balanced in air, it ascended on high, 

And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky : 
While the scale with the soul in't so mightily fell, 
That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell. " 



CXLIL— THE THREE WARNINGS. 

Mrs. Thrale. 

1. The tree of deepest root is found 
Least willing still to quit the ground : 
'Twas therefore said, by ancient sages, 

That love of life increased with years, 
So much, that in our latter stages, 
When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, 

The greatest love of life appears. 
This great affection to believe, 
Which all confess, but few perceive, 
If old assertions can't prevail, 
Be pleased to hear a modern tale. 

2. When sports went round, and all were gay, 
On neighbor Dobson's wedding-day : 
Death called aside the jocund groom 
With him into another room ; 



AND OEATOEY. 279 

And looking grave, " You must," says he, 
" Quit your sweet bride, and come with me." 
" With you ! and quit my Susan's side ? 
With you ? " the hapless bridegroom cried : 
" Young as I am, 'tis monstrous hard ! 
Besides, in truth, I'm not prepared." 

3. What more he urged, I have not heard : 

His reasons could not well be stronger : 
So Death the poor delinquent spared, 

And left to live a little longer. 
Yet calling up a serious look, 
His hour-glass trembled, while he spoke ; 
" Neighbor," he said, " farewell : no more 
Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour, 
And further, to avoid all blame 
Of cruelty upon my name, 
To give you time for preparation, 
And fit you for your future station, 
Three several warnings you shall have, 
Before you're summoned to the grave : 
Willing, for once, I'll quit my prey, 
- And grant a kind reprieve : 
In hopes you'll have no more to say, 
But when I call again this way, 
Well pleased the world will leave." 
To these conditions both consented, 
And parted perfectly contented. 

4. What next the hero of our tale befell, 
How long he lived, how wise, how well, 
It boots not, that the muse should tell : 
He plowed, he sowed, he bought, he sold, 
Nor once perceived his growing old, 
Nor thought of Death as near : 

His friends not false, his wife no shrew, 
Many his gains, his children few, 
He passed his hours in peace : 
But, while he viewed his wealth increase, 
While thus along life's dusty road, 
The beaten tra'ck, content, he trod, 
Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, 
Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, 
Brought on his eightieth year. 



280 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

5. And now, one night, in musing mood 

As all alone he sat, 

The unwelcome messenger of Fate 
Once more before him stood. 
Half killed with wonder and surprise, 
" So soon returned ! " old Dobson cries. 
" So soon d'ye call it ? " Death replies : 
" Surely, my friend, you're but in jest : 

Since I was here before, 
'Tis six and thirty years at least, 

And you are now four-score." 
" So much the worse ! " the clown rejoined : 
" To spare the aged would be kind : 
Besides, you promised me three warnings, 
Which I have looked for, nights and mornings ! " 

6. " I know," cries Death, " that at the best, 
I seldom am a welcome guest ; 
But don't be captious, friend : at least, 
I little thought that you'd be able 
To stump about your farm and stable, 
Your years have run to a great length, 
Yet still you seem to have your strength." 
" Hold ! " says the farmer, " not so fast ! 
I have been lame, these four years past." 
" And no great wonder," Death replies : 
" However, you still keep your eyes ; 
And surely, sir, to see one's friends, 
For legs and arms would make amends." 
" Perhaps," says Dobson, " so it might, 
But latterly I've lost my sight." 
" This is a shocking story, faith ; 
But there's some comfort still," says Death : 
" Each strives your sadness to amuse : 
I warrant you hear all the news." 
" There's none," cries he, " and if there were, 
I've grown so deaf, I could not hear." 

'7. " Nay then," the specter stern rejoined, 
" These are unpardonable yearnings : 
If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, 

You've had your three sufficient warnings : 
So, come along ! no more we'll part : " 
He said, and touched him with his dart. 



AND OKATOKY. 281 

And now, old Dobson, turning pale, 
Yields to his fate — so ends my tale. 



CXLHL— THE PILOT— A THRILLING INCIDENT. 

John B. Gough. 

1. John Maynard was well known in the lake district 
as a God-fearing, honest and intelligent pilot. He was pilot 
on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo, one summer after- 
noon — at that time those steamers seldom carried boats — 
smoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain 
called out : 

" Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down 
there." 

Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, 
" Captain, the ship is on fire." 

Then " Fire ! fire ! fire ! " on shipboard. 

All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed 
on the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin 
and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to 
save the ship. 

2. The passengers rushed forward and inquired of the 
pilot : 

" How far are we from Buffalo ? " 

" Seven miles." 

" How long before we can reach there ? " 

" Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." 

" Is there any danger ? " 

"Danger, here — see the smoke bursting out — go for- 
ward if you would save your lives." 

Passengers and crew, men, women and children, crowded 
the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the 
helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire : clouds of 
smoke arose. 

3. The captain cried out through his trumpet : 
" John Maynard ! " 

" Aye, aye, sir ! " 



282 



" Are you at the helm ? " 

" Aye, aye, sir ! " 

" How does she head ? " 

" South-east by east, sir." 

" Head her south-east and run her on shore," said the 
captain. 

Nearer, nearer, yet nearer, she approached the shore. 
Again the captain cried out : 

" John Maynard*! " 

The response came feebly this time, " Aye, aye, sir ! " 

" Can you hold on five minutes longer, John ? " he said. 

" By God's help, I will." 

The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp, one 
hand disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth 
set, with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as 
a rock. He beached the ship : every man, woman, and 
child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit 
took its flight to its God. 



CXLIV.— TWENTY YEARS AGO. 

1. I've wandered to the village, Tom : I've sat beneath the tree, 
Upon the school house play-ground, which sheltered you and me ; 
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know, 
That played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago. 

2. The grass was just as green, Tom, bare-footed boys at play, 
Were sporting just as we did then, with spirits just as gay ; 

But " Master " sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow, 
Afforded us a sliding place just twenty years ago. 

3. The school house has altered some — the benches are replaced 
By new ones, very like the same our pen -knives had defaced ; 

But the same old bricks are in the wall — the bell swings to and fro, 
Its music just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago. 

4. The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree : 
I do forget the name just now — you've played the same with me — 
On that same spot, 'twas played with knives, by throwing so and so 
The leader had a task to do — there twenty years ago. 



AND OEATORY. 283 

5. The river's running just as still, the willows on its side, 

Are larger than they were, Tom : the stream appears less wide : 
But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau, 
And swung our sweet-hearts, " pretty girls," just twenty years ago. 

6. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beech, 
Is very low — 'twas once so high, that we could almost reach ; 

And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I startled so, 
To see how much I've changed since twenty years ago. 

7. Near by the spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, 

Your sweet-heart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same : 
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, 
Just as that one, whose name you cut, died twenty years ago. 

8. My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came in my eyes : 
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties : 

I visited the old church-yard, and took some flowers to strew 
Upon the -graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago. 

9. Some are in the church-yard laid — some sleep beneath the sea ; 
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me ; 

And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go, 
I hope they'll lay us where we played just twenty years ago. 



CXLV.— THE EAYEN. 

Edgar A. Poe. 

1. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore : 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. 

" 'Tis some visitor," I rautter'd, " tapping at my chamber-door — 
Only this, and nothing more." 

2. Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, 

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. 
Eagerly I wished the morrow : vainly I had sought to borrow 
From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — 
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore — 
Nameless here forevermore. 

3. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, 
Thrill'd me — fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before : 
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, 
" 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door : 



284 



Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door : 
That it is, and nothing more." 

4. Presently my soul grew stronger : hesitating then no longer, 
" Sir," said I, " or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; 
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, 
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, 
That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I open'd wide the door : 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

5. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, 
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before ; 
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, 
And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word " Lenore ! " 
This / whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word " Lenore ! " 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

6. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, 
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. 

" Surely," said I, " surely that is something at my window-lattice : 
Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore, — 
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ; — 
'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 

7. Open then I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, 
In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. 

Not the least obeisance made he : not an instant stopp'd or stay'd he ; 
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door, — 
Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door — 
Perch'd, and sat, and nothing more. 

8. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, 
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, 

" Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no 

craven : 
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, 
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore ? " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

9. Much I marvel'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, 
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore ; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being 
Ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber-door — 
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, 
"With such name as " Nevermore ! " 

10. But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only 
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. 



AND OEATOKY. 285 

Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he flutter'd — 
Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends have flown before — 
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." 
Then the bird said, " Nevermore ! " 

11. Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, 

" Doubtless," said I, " what it utters is its only stock and store, 
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster 
Follow'd fast and followed faster, till his song one burden bore, — 
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, 
Of ' Nevermore — nevermore ! ' " 

12. But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, 

. Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust, and door, 
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking 
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — 
"What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
Meant in croaking " Nevermore ! " 

13. This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing 

To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core : 
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining 
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, 
But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloating o'er, 
She shall press — ah ! nevermore ! 

14. Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer 
Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. 

" "Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath 

sent thee 
Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! 
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

15. " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore, 
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — 

On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — 
Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — tell me — tell me, I implore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

16. " Prophet ! " said I, " thing of evil ! — prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore, 
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore : 
Clasp a fair and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 



286 



17. " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! " I shrieked up- 

starting — 
" Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore ! 
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy -soul hath spoken ! 
Leave my loneliness unbroken ! — quit the bust above my door ! 
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door ! " 
Quoth the raven, " Nevermore ! " 

18. And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting 
On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door ; 
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, 
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor ; 
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, 

Shall be lifted — nevermore ! 



CXLVL— MAJESTY AND SUPREMACY OF THE SCRIPTURES 
CONFESSED BY A SKEPTIC. 

Rousseau. 

1. I will confess that the majesty of the Scriptures, 
strikes me with admiration, as the purity of the Gospel 
hath its influence on my heart. Peruse the works of our 
philosophers with all their pomp of diction. How mean, 
how contemptible are they, compared with the Scriptures ! 
Is it possible that a book, at once so simple and sublime, 
should be merely the work of man ? Is it possible that 
the sacred personage, whose history it contains, should be 
himself a mere man ? Do we find that he assumed the 
tone of an enthusiast or ambitious sectary ? 

2. What sweetness, what purity in his manner! What 
an affecting gracefulness in his delivery ! What sublimity 
in his maxims ! What profound wisdom in his discourses ! 
What presence of mind, what subtlety, what truth in his 
replies. How great the command over his passions ! 
Where is the man, where the philosopher, who could so 
live, and so die, without weakness, and without ostenta- 
tion? When Plato described, his imaginary good man, 
loaded with all the shame of guilt, yet meriting the high- 
est rewards of virtue, he describes exactly the character 
of Jestjs Cheist. 



AND ORATORY. 287 

3. What prepossession, what blindness must it be, to 
compare the son of Sophroniscus to the son of Mary! 
What an infinite disproportion there is between them ! 
Soceates, dying without pain or ignominy, easily support- 
ed his character to the last ; and if his death, however 
easy, had not crowned his life, it might have been doubted 
whether Soceates, with all his wisdom, was any thing 
more than a vain sophist. He invented, it is said, the 
theory of morals. Others, however, had before put them 
in practice : he had only to say, therefore, what they had 
done, and reduce their examples to precepts. 

4. Aeistides had been just before Socrates defined jus- 
tice : Leonidas had given up his life for his country, before 
Socrates declared patriotism to be a duty : the Spartans 
were a sober people, before Socrates recommended sobri- 
ety : before he had even defined virtue, Greece abounded 
in virtuous men. But where could Jesus learn, among his 
competitors, that pure and sublime morality, of which he 
only hath given us both precept and example ? The great- 
est wisdom was made known among the most bigoted 
fanaticism, and the simplicity of the most heroic virtues, 
did honor to the vilest people on earth. 

5. The death of Socrates, peaceably philosophizing with 
his friends, appears the most agreeable that could be wished 
for ; that of Jesus, expiring in the midst of agonizing pains, 
abused, insulted, and accused by a whole nation, is the 
most horrible that could be feared. Socrates, in receiving 
the cup of poison, blessed indeed the weeping executioner 
who administered it ; but Jesus, in the midst of excru- 
ciating torments, prayed for his merciless tormentors. Yes, 
if the life and death of Socrates were those of a sage, the 
life and death of Jesus are those of a God. 

6. Shall we suppose the evangelic history a mere fic- 
tion ? Indeed, it bears not the marks of fiction ; on the 
contrary, the history of Socrates, which nobody presumes 
to doubt, is not so well attested as that of Jesus Cheist. 
JSuch a supposition, in fact, only shifts the difficulty with- 



288 

out obviating it ; — it is more inconceivable that a number 
of persons should agree to write such a history, than that 
one only should furnish the subject of it. The Jewish 
authors were incapable of the diction, and strangers to the 
morality contained in the Gospel, the marks of whose truth 
are so striking and inimitable, that the inventor would be 
a more astonishing character than the hero. 



CXLVII.— FIFTY YEARS AGO. 

W. D. Gallagiier. 

1. A song for the early times out west, 

And our green old forest home, 
Whose pleasant memories freshly yet 

Across the bosom come : 
A song for the free and gladsome life 

In those early days we led, 
With a teeming soil beneath our feet, 

And a smiling heaven o'erhead ! 
Oh, the waves of life danced merrily, 

And had a joyous flow, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago ! 

2. The hunt, the shot, the glorious chase, 

The captured elk or deer : 
The camp, the big bright fire, and then 

The rich and wholesome cheer : 
The sweet, sound sleep, at dead of night, 

By our camp-lire blazing high — 
Unbroken by the wolf's long howl, 

And the panther springing by. 
Oh, merrily passed the time, despite 

Our wily Indian foe, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago ! 

3. We shunned not labor • when 'twas due 

We wrought with right good will ; 
And for the home we won for them, 

Our children bless us still. 
We lived not hermit lives ; but oft 

In social converse met ; 



AND OBATGBY. 289 

And fires of love were kindled then, 

That burn on warmly yet. 
Oh, pleasantly the stream of life 

Pursued its constant flow, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago ! 

4. We felt that we were fellow-men : 

We felt we were a band 
Sustained here in the wilderness, 

By Heaven's upholding hand. 
And when the solemn Sabbath came, 

We gathered in the wood, 
And lifted up our hearts in prayer 

To God, the only Good. 
Our temples then were earth and sky : 

None others did we know, 
In the days when we .were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago. 

5. Our forest life was rough and rude, 

And dangers closed us round, 
But here, amid the green old trees, 

Freedom we sought and found. 
Oft through our dwellings wintry blasts 

Would rush with shriek and moan : 
We cared not — though they were but frail, 

We felt they were our own ! 
Oh, free and manly lives we led, ■ 

'Mid verdure or 'mid snow, 
In the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago. 

6. But now our course of life is short ; 

And as, from day to day, 
We're walking on with halting step, 

And fainting by the way, 
Another land, more bright than this, 

To our dim sight appears, 
And on our way to it we'll soon 

Again be pioneers ! 
And while we linger, we may all 

A backward glance still throw 
To the days when we were pioneers, 

Fifty years ago. 

18 



290 



CXLVIIL— THE VOICE OF WISDOM. 

1. Wisdom took up her harp, and stood in place 
Of frequent concourse — stood in every gate, 
By every way, and walked in every street ; 
And, lifting up her voice, proclaimed : " Be wise, 
Ye fools ! be of an understanding heart. 
Forsake the wicked : come not near his house : 
Pass by : make haste : depart, and turn away. 
Me follow — me, whose days are pleasantness, 
Whose paths are peace, whose end is perfect joy." 

2. The Seasons came and went, and went and came, 
To teach men gratitude, and as they passed, 
Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else 
Had stolen unheeded by. The gentle flowers 
Eetired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness, 
Talked of humility, and peace, and love. 

The Dews came down unseen at evening-tide, 
And silently their bounties shed, to teach 
Mankind's unostentatious charity. 

3. With arm in arm the Forest rose on high, 
And lesson gave of brotherly regard. 

And, on the rugged mountain-brow exposed. — 

Bearing the blast alone, — the ancient oak 

Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still 

To courage in distress exhorted loud. 

The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze, 

Attuned the heart to melody and love. 

4. Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept 
Essential love ; and from her glorious bow, 
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace, 
With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God 
Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still, 
She wispered to Revenge : — " Forgive, forgive! " 

5. The Sun rejoicing round the earth, announced 
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. 
The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face, 
Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth, 
And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens, 
Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked, 
Of purity, and holiness, and God. 



POLLOK. 



AND OEATOBY. 291 

In dreams and visions, Sleep instructed much. 
Day uttered speech to day, and night to night 
Taught knowledge : silence had a tongue : the grave, 
The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each 
A tongue that ever said — " Man ! think of God ! 
Think of thyself ! think of eternity ! " 
Fear God, the thunders said : fear God, the waves : 
Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied : 
Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep. 



CXLIX.— LOOK ALOFT. 

J. Lawrence. 

1. In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale 
Are around and above, if thy footing should fail, — 

If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart, — 
"Look aloft," arid be firm, and be fearless of heart. 

2. If the friend who embraced in prosperity's glow, 
With a smile for each joy, and a tear for each woe, 
Should betray thee when sorrows, like clouds, are arrayed, 

' Look aloft " to the friendship which never shall fade. 

3. Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine eye, 
Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly, 

Then turn, and, through tears of repentant regret, 
" Look aloft " to the Sun that is never to set. 

4. Should they who are nearest and dearest thy heart, — 
Thy friends and companions, — in sorrow depart, 

" Look aloft " from the darkness and dust of the tomb, 
To that soil where " affection is ever in bloom." 

5. And, ! when Death comes in his terrors, to cast 
His fears on the future, his pall on the past, 

In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart, 
And a smile in thine eye, " Look aloft," and depart. 



CL.— THE LIGHT OF HOME. 

Mrs. Hale. 
My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair, 

And thy spirit will sigh to roam ; 
And thou must go — but never, when there, 
Forget the light of home. 



292 



Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright, 

It dazzles to lead astray : 
Like the meteor's flash, 'twill deepen the night, 

When thou treadest the lonely way. 

But the hearth of home has a constant flame, 

And pure as vestal fire : 
'Twill burn, 'twill burn forever the same, 

For nature feeds the pyre. 

The sea of ambition is tempest-tost, 
And thy hopes may vanish like foam ; 

But when sails are shiver'd, and rudder lost, 
Then look to the light of home. 

And there, like a star through the midnight cloud, 

Thou shalt see the beacon bright ; 
For never, till shining on thy shroud, 

Can be quenched its holy light. 

The sun of fame, 'twill gild the name, 

But the heart ne'er felt its ray ; 
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim, 

Are but beams of a wintry day. 

And how cold and dim those beams must be, 
Should life's wretched wanderer come ! 

But, my boy, when the world is dark to thee, 
Then turn to the light of home. 



CLI.— MY FATHER'S AT THE HELM. 

The curling waves with awful roar, 

A gallant bark assailed, 
And pallid fear's distracting power, 

O'er all on board prevailed, — 
Save one, the captain's darling child, 

Who steadfast viewed the storm, 
And fearless with composure smiled, 

At danger's threat'ning form. 

" And fear'st thou not," a seaman cried, 
" While terrors overwhelm? " 

" Why should I fear ? " the boy replied : 
" My father's at the helm." 



AND ORATORY. 293 

Thus when, our worldly hopes are reft 

Our earthly comforts gone, 
"We still have one sure anchor left, — 

God helps, and He alone. 

He to our cries will lend an ear, 

He gives our pangs relief : 
He turns to smiles each trembling tear 

To joy each torturing grief. 
Then turn to Him, 'mid terrors wild, 

When sorrows overwhelm, 
Eemembering, like the fearless child, 

Our father's at the helm. 



CLIL— MAKCO BOZZARIS. 

Fitz-Gkeene Halleck. 
At midnight in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 
'When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 

Should tremble at his power : 
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror : 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard : 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring : 
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
As Eden's garden bird. 

. An hour passed on, — the Turk awoke; — 

That bright dream was his last : 
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek : 
" To arms ! they come I the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
He woke to die 'midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band ; — 
" Strike — till the last armed foe expires ! • 

Strike — for your altars and your fires ! 
Strike — for the green graves of your sires ! 

God, and your native land ! " 



294 wiley's elocution 

3. They fought, like brave men, long and well : 

They piled the ground with Moslem slain : 
They conquered ; but Bozzaris fell, 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won : 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

4. Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! 

Come to the mother's when she feels 
For the first time her first-born's breath : 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence, are broke, 
And crowded cities, wail its stroke: 
Come in Consumption's gbastly form, 
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm : 
Come when the heart beats high and warm. 

With banquet-song and dance, and wine,- 
And thou art terrible — the tear, 
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
And all we know, or dream, or fear, 

Of agony, are thine. 

5. But to the Hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris, with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee : there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die ! 



CLIIL— THE PEN AND THE PftESS. 

1. Young Genius walked out by the mountain and streams, 
Entranced by the power of Ms own pleasant dreams, 



AND OBATOBY. 295 

Till the silent — the wayward — the wandering thing 
Found a plume that had fallen from a passing bird's wing : 
Exulting and proud, like a boy at his play, 
He bore the new prize to his dwelling away, 
He gazed for a while on its beauties, and then 
He cut it, and shaped it, and called it — a Pen. 

2. But its magical use he discovered not yet, 

Till he dipp'd its bright lips in a fountain of jet; 

And ! what a glorious thing it became, 

For it spoke to the world in a language of flame : 

While its master wrote on like a being inspired, 

Till the hearts of the millions were melted or fired ; — - 

It came as a boon and a blessing to men, 

The peaceful — the pure — the victorious Pen ! 

3. Young Genius went forth on his rambles once more, 
The vast sinless caverns of earth to explore ! 

He searched the rude rock, and with rapture he found 

A substance unknown, which he brought from the ground : 

He fused it with fire, and rejoiced in the change, 

As he molded the ore into characters strange, 

Till his thoughts and his efforts were crown'd with success : 

For an engine uprose, and he call'd it — the Pkess. 

4. The Pen and the Press, blest alliance ! combin'd 
To soften the heart and enlighten the mind; 

For that to the treasures of knowledge gave birth, 
And this sent them forth to the ends of the earth : 
Their battles for truth were triumphant indeed, 
And the rod of the tyrant was snapp'd like a reed : 
They were made to exalt us — to teach us to bless 
Those invincible brothers — the Pen and the Press ! 



CLIY.— THE BOYS. 

Oliver W. Holmes. 
This selection was addressed to the class of 1829, in Harvard College, 
some thirty years after their graduation. The author, who retains the 
freshness and joyousness of youth, addresses his classmates as " boys." 

1. Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys ? 
If there has, take him out, without making a noise. 
Hang the almanac's cheat and the catalogue's spite ! 
Old Time is a liar ! we're twenty to-night ! 



296 



2. We're twenty ! We're twenty ! Who says we are more ? 
He's tipsy, — young jackaDapes ! — show him the door ! 

" Gray temples at twenty " ? — Yes ! white if we please : 
Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze ! 

3. Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake ! 
Look close, — you will see not a sign of a flake ! 

We want some new garlands for those we have shed, 
And these are white roses in place of the red 

4. We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, 
Of talking (in public) as if we were old : 

That boy we call "Doctor," and this we call "Judge": 
It's a neat little fiction, — of course it's all fudge. 

5. That fellow's the "Speaker," the one on the right: 
" Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you to-night? 
That's our "Member of Congress," we say when we chaff: 
There's the " Reverend" — what's his name? — don't make me laugh. 

6. That boy with the grave mathematical look 
Made believe he had written a wonderful book, 
And the Royal Society thought it was true ! 

So they chose him right in, — a good joke it was too ! 

V. There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, 
That could harness a team with a logical chain ; 
When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, 
We called him " The Justice," but now he's the " Squire." 

8. And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith : 
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith ; 
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free, — 
Just read on his medal, " My country," "of thee" ! . 

9. You hear that boy laughing ? You think he's all fun ; 
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done : 

The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, 

And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all ! 

10. Yes, we're boys, — always playing with tongue or with pen ; 
And I sometimes have asked, Shall we ever be men ? 

Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay, 
Till the last dear companion drops smiling away? 

11. Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray ! 
The stars of its winter, the dews of its May ! 

And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, 
Dear Father, take care of Thy children, The Boys ! 



AND OEATOEY. 297 

CLV.— ASPIRATIONS OF THE HEAVEN-BORN SPIRIT. 

Mes. Hemans 

1. When the young Eagle with exulting eye, 

Has learned to dare the splendor of the sky, 
And leave the Alps beneath him in his course, 
To bathe his crest in morn's empyreal source ; 
Will his free wing, from that majestic hight, 
Descend to follow some wild meteor's light, 
Which, far below, with evanescent fire, 
Shines to elude, and dazzles to expire ? 

2. No ! still through clouds he wings his upward way, 
And proudly claims his heritage of day ! 

And shall the spirit, on whose ardent gaze 

The day-spring from on high hath poured its blaze, 

Turn from that pure effulgence, to the beam 

Of earth-born light, that sheds a treacherous gleam. 

Luring the wanderer, from the star of faith ? 

To the deep valley of the shades of death ? 

What bright exchange, what treasure shall be given, 

For the high birthright of its hope in Heaven ? 



CLVL— THE UNION OF THE STATES. 

Edmund Randolph. 

1. I have labored for the continuance of the union — 
the rock of our salvation. I believe that as sure as there 
is a God in heaven, our safety, our political happiness, and 
existence, depend on the "Union of the States;" and 
that, without this union, the people of this and other States, 
will undergo the unspeakable calamities which discord, 
faction, turbulence, war, and bloodshed, have produced in 
other countries. The American spirit ought to be mixed 
with American pride — pride to see the union magnificently 
triumph. 

2. Let it not be recorded of America, that, after having 
performed the most gallant exploits, after having overcome 
the most astonishing difficulties, and after having gained 
the admiration of the world by their incomparable valor 
and policy, they lost their acquired reputation, — their 

13* 



298 wiley's elocution 

national consequence and happiness, — by their own indis- 
cretion. Let no future historian inform posterity that they 
wanted wisdom and virtue to concur in any regular, effi- 
cient government. Should any writer, doomed to so dis- 
agreeable a task, feel the indignation of an honest historian, 
he would reprehend and recriminate our folly with equal 
severity and justice. 

3. Catch the present moment : seize it with avidity and 
eagerness ; for it may be lost, never to be regained. If the 
union be now lost, I fear it will remain so forever. When 
I maturely weigh the advantages of the union, and the 
dreadful consequences of its dissolution : when I see safety 
on my right, and destruction on my left : when I behold 
respectability and happiness acquired by the one, but anni- 
hilated by the other, I can not hesitate to decide in favor 
of the Union. 



CLVIL— TO THE REVOLUTIONARY VETERANS. 

Daniel WebsteR. 
[At the laying of the corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument, June 17, 

1825.] 

1. We hold still among us some of those who were ac- 
tive agents in the scenes of 1115, and who are now here, 
from every quarter of "New England, to visit once more, 
and under circumstances so affecting, — I had almost said so 
overwhelming, — this renowned theatre of their courage and 
patriotism. Venerable men ! you have come down to us 
from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously length- 
ened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. 
You are now, where you stood, fifty years ago, this very 
hour, with your brothers, and your neighbors, shoulder to 
shoulder, in the strife for your country. 

2. Behold, how altered. The same heavens are indeed 
over your heads : the same ocean rolls at your feet ; but all 
else how changed ! You hear now no roar of hostile can- 
non, you see now no mixed volumes of smoke and flame 



AND ORATORY. 299 

rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strewed with 
the dead and the dying: the impetuous charge : the steady 
and successful repulse : the loud call to repeated assault : 
the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance, 
a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant 
to whatever of terror there may be in war and death ; — all 
these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more. 
All is peace. 

3. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and 
roofs, which you then saw filled with wives and children 
and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with 
unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have pre- 
sented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy popu- 
lation come out to welcome and greet you with an universal 
jubilee. All is peace ; and God has granted you this sight 
of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in the grave 
forever. 

4. But, alas ! you are not all here. Time and the sword 
have thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, 
Read, Pomeroy, Bridge ! — our eyes seek for you in vain 
amidst this broken band. But let us not too much grieve, 
that you have met the common fate of men. You lived to 
see your country's independence established, and to sheathe 
your swords from war. On the light of Liberty, you saw 
arise the light of Peace, like 

" Another morn 
Risen on mid-noon ; " — 

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. 

5. But — ah ! — him ! the first great martyr in this great 
cause ! Him ! the premature victim of his own self-devoting 
heart ! Him ! the head of our civil counsels, and the des- 
tined leader of our military bands, whom nothing brought 
hither but the unquenchable fire of his own spirit ! Him ! 
cut oif by Providence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety 
and thick gloom : falling, ere he saw the star of his country 
rise : pouring out his generous blood, like water, before he 
knew whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of 



300 wiley's elocution 

bondage ! — how shall I struggle with the emotions that 
stifle the utterance of thy name ! Our poor work may per- 
ish, but thine shall endure ! This monument may moulder 
away : the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to a 
level with the sea;. but thy memory shall not fail! Where- 
soever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the 
transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be 
to claim kindred with thy spirit ! 

6. Veterans ! you are the remnant of many a wtll- 
fought field. You bring with you marks of honor from 
Trenton and Monmouth, from Yorktown, Camden, Ben- 
nington, and Saratoga. Veterans of half a century! when, 
in your youthful days, you put everything at hazard in your 
country's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as 
youth is, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to 
an hour like this. Look abroad into this lovely land, 
which your young valor defended, and mark the hajypiness 
with which it is filled : yea, look abroad into the whole 
earth, and see what a name you have contributed to give 
to your country, and what a praise you have added to free- 
dom, and then rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude -which 
beam upon your last days from the improved condition of 
mankind. 



CLVIIL— PLEASURES OF HOPE. 

Thomas Campbell. 

1. At summer's eve, when heaven's aerial bow 
Spans, with bright arch, the glittering hills below, 
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky ? 
Why do these hills of shadowy tint appear 

More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ? 
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
And robes the mountain with its azure hue. 

2. Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 

The promised joys of life's unmeasured way ; 
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene 
More pleasing seems than, all the past hath been ; 



AND OKATOKY. 301 

And every form that fancy can repair 
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 

3. What potent spirit guides the raptured eye 
To pierce the shades of dim futurity? 

Can Wisdom lend, with all her boasted power, 
The pledge of joys' anticipated hour ? 
•Or, if she holds an image to the view, 
'Tis nature pictured too severely true. 
With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light, 
That pours remotest rapture on the sight : 
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way, 
That calls each slumbering passion into play. 

4. Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of Time, 
Thy joyous youth began, — but not to fade. 

When all the sister planets have decayed : 
When, wrapt in fire, the realms of ether glow, 
And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below, 
Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile. 



CLE.— PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S LAST INAUGURAL ADDRESS. 

1. Fellow-Countrymen : — On the occasion correspond- 
ing to this, four years, ago, all thoughts were anxiously 
directed to an impending civil war. All dreaded it— all 
sought to avert it. While the Inaugural Address was be- 
ing delivered from this place, devoted altogether to saving 
the Union without war, insurgent agents were in this city 
seeking to destroy it without war — seeking to dissolve the 
Union, and divide effects, by negotiation. Both parties 
deprecated war ; but one of them would make war rather 
than let the nation survive ; and the other would accept 
war rather than let it perish ; and the war came. 

2. One-eighth of the whole population were colored 
slaves — not distributed generally over the Union, but local- 
ized over the southern part of it. These slaves constituted 
a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this inter- 
est was, somehow, the cause of the war. To strengthen, 



WBL 

perpetuate, and extend this inter*: .e objec 

which the _ onld rend the Union, even by war : 

while the Government claimed no rigL: -lore than 

rritorial enlargement of it. Neither antici- 
1 that the cause of the conflict m: with, or 

even before, the confii -hould cease. Each looked 

for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and 
astounding. Both read the same Bible, and pray to the 
same God; and each inv he other. 

It may seem strat_ my men could dare to ask a just 

God- :e in w:i _ _ . _eir bread from the sweat 

of other men- : : but let us judge not, that we be 
not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered 
— that of neither has beer 1 fully. 

3. The Almighty has His own purpr - ~oe unto 
the world because of offenses ! for it must be that of: 
come ; but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." 
If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those 

es which, h dnued through His appointed 

time, He now wills to remove, and tha: He _ ires to both 
Nbi errible war. as the woe due to those 

Lorn the offci. II we discern therein any 

departure from th : which the believers 

in a living God alway to Him? Fondly d: 

hope — fervently do we pray — that this mighty scourge of 
wai m y 

4. Yet. if God wi ntmue until all the wealth 

7 :. : bond mid' twc hundred and firry years of 
unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood 
drawn with the lash shall be paid with another drawn with 
the sword, a was said \ x thousand years ago, so still it 
must be said, u The judgments of the Lord are true and 
righteous akci i:h malice toward ne : with 

: r all : with firmness in the right, as God giv 
to see the right lei :~e on to finish the work we are 

in : to bind up the nat: im'fi w :nds : to care for him who 
shall have borne the battle, and for his widow and orphan : 



Am ::_:.zr. 3 . ; 

do all wMeh may achiere and eherisi. a just and last- 
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304 wiley's elocution 

Over our Washington's river 
Sunrise beams rosy and fair : 

Sunset on Sangamon fairer, — 
Father and martyr lies there. 

2. Kings under pyramids slumber, 

Scaled in the Libyan sands : 
Princes in gorgeous cathedrals, 

Decked with the spoil of the lands : 
Kinglicr, princelier sleeps he, 

Couched 'mid the prairies serene, 
Only the turf and the willow 

Him and God's heaven between : 
Temple nor column to cumber 

Verdure and bloom of the sod, — 
So, in the vale by Beth-pcor, 

Moses was buried of God. 

3. Break into blossom, prairies ! 

Snowy and golden and red : 
Peers of the Palestine lilies 

Heap for your Glorious Dead ! 
Roses as fair as of Sharon, 

Branches as stately as palm, 
Odors as rich as the spices, — 

Cassia and aloes and balm, — 
Mary, the loved, and Salome, 

All with a gracious accord, 
Ere the first glow of the morning, 

Brought to the tomb of the Lord. 

4. Wind of the West ! breathe around him 

Soft as the saddened air's sigh, 
When, to the summit of Pisgah, 

Moses had journeyed to die : 
Clear as its anthem that floated 

Wide o'er the Moabite plain, 
Low, with the wail of the people, 

Blending its burdened refrain. 
Rarer, wind ! and diviner — 

Sweet as the breeze that went by, 
When, over Olivet's mountain, 

Jesus was lost in the sky. 

5. Not for thy sheaves nor savannas 

Crown we thee, proud Illinois ! 



AND OEATOEY. 805 

Here in his grave is thy grandeur, 

Born of his sorrow thy joy. 
Only the tomb by Mount Zion, 

Hewn for the Lord, do we hold 
Dearer than his in thy prairies, 

Girdled with harvests of gold ! 
Still for the world, through the ages, 

Wreathing with glory his brow, 
He shall be liberty's savior, — 

Freedom's Jerusalem thou ! 



CLXIL— OYER THE RIVER. 

Nancy A. W. Pkiest. 
Over the river they beckon to me — 

Loved ones who've crossed to the further side : 
The gleam of the snowy robes I see, 

But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide. 
There's one, with ringlets of sunny gold, 

And eyes, the reflection of heaven's own blue : 
He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, 

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. 
We saw not the angels that met him there : 

The gates of the city we could not see ; — 
Over the river, over the river, 

My brother stands waiting to welcome me ! 

Over the river the boatman pale 

Carried another — the household pet : 
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — 

Darling Minnie ! I see her yet ! 
She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark : 
We watched it glide from the silver sands, 

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. 
We know she is safe on the further side, 

Where all the ransomed and angels be ; — 
Over the river, the mystic river, 

My childhood's idol is waiting for me ! 

For none return from those quiet shores, 
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale : 

We hear the dip of the golden oars, 
And catch a gleam of the snowy sail, 



306 



And, lo ! they have passed from our yearning hearts 

They cross the stream, and are gone for aye : 
We may not sunder the veil apart 

That hides from our vision the gates of day : 
We only know that their bark no more 

May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea : 
Yet, somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore, 

They watch and beckon and wait for me ! 

4. And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold 

Is flushing river and hill and shore, 
I shall one day stand by the water cold, 

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar : 
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail : 

I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand : 
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale, 

To the better shore of the spirit land : 
I shall know the loved who have gone before, 

And joyfully sweet shall the meeting be, 
When over the river, the peaceful river, 

The angel of death shall carry me ! 



CLXIIL— THE BAYONET CHARGE. 

Nathan D. Urner. 

1. Not a sound, not a breath ! 
And as still as death, 

As we stand on the steep in our bayonet's shine : 

All is tumult below — 

Surging friend, surging foe ; 
But, not a hair's breadth moves our adamant line — 

Waiting so grimly. 

The battle smoke lifts 

From the valley, and drifts 
Bound the hill where we stand, like a pall for the world ; 

And a gleam now and then 

Shows the billows of men, 
In whose black, boiling surge we are soon to be hurled, 

Bedly and dimly. 

There's the word ! " Beady all ! " 

2. See the serried points fall — 
The grim horizontal so bright and so bare ! 



AND ORATORY. SOT 

Then the other word — Ha ! 

We are moving ! Huzza ! 
We snuff the burnt powder, we plunge in the glare, 

Rushing to glory ! 

Down the hill, up the glen, 

O'er the bodies of men. 
Then on with a cheer, to the roaring redoubt ! 

Why stumble so, Ned ? 

No answer : he's dead ! 
And there's Dutch Peter down, with his life leaping out, 

Crimson and gory ! 

3. On ! on ! Do not think 
Of the falling ; but drink 

Of the mad, living cataract torrent of war ! 

On ! on ! let them feel 

The cold vengeance of steel ! 
Catch the Captain — he's hit ! 'Tis a scratch — nothing more ! 

Forward forever ! 

Huzza ! Here's a trench ! 

In and out of it ! Wrench 
From the jaws of the cannon the guerdon of Fame ! 

Charge ! charge ! with a yell 

Like the shriek of a shell — 
O'er the abatis, on through the curtain of flame ! 

Back again ! Never ! 

4. The rampart ! 'Tis crossed — 
It is ours ! It is lost ! 

No — another dash now and the glacis is won ! 

Huzza ! What a dust ! 

Hew them down. Cut and thrust ! 
A T-i-g-a-r ! brave lads, for the red work is done — 

Victory ! Victory ! 



CLXIV.— THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

Thomas Hood. 
1. One more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate, 

Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly, 

Lift her with care ! 



308 



Fashioned so slenderly — 
Young, and so fair ! 

2. Look at her garments, 
Clinging like cerements, 
"While the wave constantly 

Drips from her clothing : 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing ! 

3. Touch her not scornfully ! 
Think of her mournfully, 

Gently and humanly — 
Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 

Now is pure womanly. 

4. Make no deep scrutiny, 
Into her mutiny, 

Rash and undutiful : 
Past all dishonor, 
Death has left on her 

Only the beautiful. 

5. Still, for all slips of hers — 

One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips of hers, 

Oozing so clammily. 
Loop up her tresses 

Escaped from the comb— - 
Her fair auburn tresses — 
While wonderment guesses, 

Where was her home ? 

G. Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother ? 

Had she a sister ? 

Had*she a brother ? 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 

Yet, than all other ? 

7. Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 

Under the sun ! 
Oh ! it was pitiful ! 



AND ORATOEY. 309 

Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

8. Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 

Feelings had changed — 
Love, by harsh evidence, 
Thrown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 

Seeming estranged. 

9. Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 

"With many a light 
From window and casement, 
From garret to basement, 
She stood, with amazement, 

Houseless- by night. 

10. The bleak wind of March 

Madeher tremble and shiver ; 
But not the dark arch, 

Or the black, flowing river : 
Mad from fife's history, 
Glad to death's mystery, 

Swift to be hurled — 
Anywhere — anywhere 

Out of the world ! 

11. In she plunged boldly — 
No matter how coldly 

The rough river ran — 
Over the brink of it ! 
Picture it — think of it ! 

Dissolute Man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it, 

Then, if you can ! — 
Take her up tenderly, 

Lift her with care ! 
Fashioned so slenderly, 

Young, and so fair. 

12. Ere her limbs, frigidly, 
Stiffen too rigidly, 

Decently, kindly, 
Smooth and compose them ; 



310 



And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

13. Dreadfully staring 

Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 

Fixed on futurity. 

14. Perishing gloomily, 
Spurred by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity, 

Into her rest ! 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly, 

Over her breast ! 
Owning her weakness, 

Her evil behavior, 
And leaving with meekness 

Her sins to her Saviour ! 



CLXV.— THE HEART'S CHARITY. 

E. Cook. 

1. A rich man walked abroad one day, 

And a poor man walked the self-same way, 

When a pale and starving face came by, 

With a pallid lip and a hopeless eye ; 

And that starving face presumed to stand 

And ask for bread from the rich man's hand. 

But the rich man sullenly looked askance, 

With a gathering frown and a doubtful glance : 

" I have nothing," said he, " to give to you, 

Nor any such rogue of a canting crew ; " 

And he fastened his pocket, and on he went, 

With his soul untouched and his conscience content. 

2. Now this great owner of golden- store 
Had built a church not long before ; 
As noble a fane as man could raise, 

And the world had given him thanks and praise ; 
And all who beheld it lavished fame 
On his Christian gift and godly name. 



AND ORATORY. 311 

8. The poor man passed, and the white lips dared 
To ask of him if a mite could be spared : 
He stood for a moment, but not to pause 
On the truth of the tale, or the parish laws : 
He was seeking to give — though it was but small, 
For a penny, a single penny was all, 
But he gave it with a kindly word, 
While the warmest pulse in his heart was stirred. 
'Twas a tiny seed his charity shed, 
But the white lips got a taste of bread, 
And the beggar's blessing hallowed the crust 
That came like a spring in the desert dust. 

4. The rich man and the poor man died, 

As all of us must ; and they both were tried 
At the sacred judgment-seat above, 
For their thoughts of evil and deeds of love. 
The balance of justice there was true, 
And fairly bestowed what fairly was due : 
And the two fresh comers at heaven's gate 
Stood waiting to learn their eternal fate. 

5. The recording angel told of things 

That fitted them both with kindred wings ; 

But as they stood in the crystal light, 

The plumes of the rich man grew less bright. 

The angels knew by that shadowy sign 

That the poor man's work had been most divine, 

And they brought the unerring scales to see 

Where the rich man's falling off could be. 

6. Full many deeds did the angels weigh, 
But the balance kept an even sway, 
And at last the church endowment laid 

With its thousands promised and thousands paid, 

With the thanks of prelates by its side, 

In the stately words of pious pride ; 

And it weighed so much that the angels stood 

To see how the poor man could balance such good, 

7. A cherub came and took his place 

By the empty scale, with a radiant grace, 
And he dropped the penny that had fed 
White starving lips with a crust of bread : 
The church endowment went up with the beam, 



312 wiley's elocution. 

And the whisper of the great Supreme, 
As he beckoned the poor man to his throne, 
Was heard in this immortal tone : 
• " Blessed are they who from great gain 
Give thousands with a reasoning brain, 
But holier still shall be his part 
Who gives one coin with a pitying heart ! " 



CLXVI.— THE LOST STEAMSHIP. 

Fitz-James O'Brien. 

1. " Ho, there ! fisherman, hold your hand ! 

Tell me what is that far away — 
There, where over the Isle of Sand 

Hangs the mist-cloud sullen and gray ? 
See ! it rocks with a ghastly life, 

Kaising and rolling through clouds of spray, 
Bight in the midst of the breakers' strife — 

Tell me, what is it, Fisherman, pray ? " 

2. " That, good sir, was a steamer, stout 

As ever paddled around Cape Race, 
And many's the wild and stormy bout 

She had with the winds in that self-same place ; 
But her time had come ; and at ten o'clock 

Last night she struck on that lonesome shore, 
And her sides were gnawed by the hidden rock, 

And at dawn this morning she was no more." 

3. " Come, as you seem to know, good man, 

The terrible fate of this gallant ship, 
Tell me all about her that you can, — 

And here's my flask to moisten your lip 
Tell me how many she had on board — 

Wives and husbands, and lovers true — 
How did it fare with her human hoard, 

Lost she many or lost she few ? " 

4. " Master, I may not drink of your flask, 

Already too moist I feel my lip ; 
But I'm ready to do what else you ask, 

And spin you my yarn about the ship : 
'Twas ten o'clock, as I said, last night, 

When she struck the breakers and went ashore, 



AND OBATORY. 313 

And scarce had broken the morning's light 

Than she sank in twelve feet of water, or more. 
6. " But long ere this they knew their doom, 

And the Captain called all hands to prayer ; 
And solemnly over the ocean's boom 

The orisons rose on the troubled air. 
And round about the vessel there rose 

Tall plumes of spray as white as snow, 
Like angels in their ascension clothes, 

Waiting for those who prayed below. 

6. "So those three hundred people clung 

As well as. they could to spar and rope ; 
With a word of prayer upon every tongue, 

Nor on any face a glimmer of hope. 
But there was no blubbering weak and wild — 

Of tearful faces I saw but one, 
A rough old salt, who cried like a child, 

And not for himself, but the Captain's son. 

7. " The Captain stood on the quarter-deck, 

Firm but pale, with trumpet in hand, 
Sometimes he looked on the breaking wreck, 

Sometimes he sadly looked on land. 
And often he smiled to cheer the crew — 

But, Lord ! the smile was terrible grim — 
'Till over the quarter a huge sea flew, 

And that was the last they saw of him. 

8. " I saw one young fellow, with his bride, 

Standing amidship upon the wreck : 
His face was white as the boiling tide, 

And she was clinging about his neck. 
And I saw them try to say good-bye, 

But neither could hear the other speak : 
So they floated away through the sea to die — 

Shoulder to shoulder, and cheek to cheek. 

9. " And there was a child, but eight at best, 

Who went his way in a sea we shipped, 
All the while holding upon his breast 

A little pet parrot whose wings were clipped. 
And as the boy and the bird went by, 

Swinging away on a tall wave's crest, 
They were grappled by a man with a drowning cry, 

And together the three went down to rest. 

14 



314 



10. " And so the crew went one by one, 

Some with gladness, and few with fear : 
Cold and hardship such work had done 

That few seemed frightened when death was near. 
Thus every soul on board went down — 

Sailor and passenger, little and great : 
The last that sank was a man of my town, 

A capital swimmer — the second mate." 

11. " Now, lonely Fisherman, who are you, 

That say you saw this terrible wreck ? 
How do I know what you say is true, 

"When every mortal was swept from the deck ? 
"Where were you in that hour of death ? 

How do you know what you relate ? " 
His answer came in an under-breath — 

" Master, I was the second mate ! " 



CLXVII.— THE VAGABONDS. 



Trowbridge. 



We are two travelers, Roger and I. 

Roger's my dog. — Come here, you scamp ! 
Jump for the gentlemen, — mind your eye ! 

Over the table, — look out for the lamp ! — 
The rogue is growing a little old : 

Five years we've tramped through wind and weather, 
And slept out -doors when nights were cold, 

And ate and drank — and starved — together. 

We've learned what comfort is, I tell you ! 

A bed on the floor, a bit of rosin, 
A fire to thaw our thumbs, (poor fellow ! 

The paw he holds up there 's been frozen,) 
Plenty of catgut for my fiddle, 

(This out-door business is bad for strings,) 
Then a few nice buckwheats hot from the griddle 

And Roger and I set up for kings !' 

No, thank ye, sir, — I never drink : 

Roger and I are exceedingly moral — 
Aren't we, Roger ? — See him wink ! — 

Well, something hot, then, — we won't quarrel. 
He's thirsty, too, — see him nod his head ? 

What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk ! 




AND OKATOEY. 315 



He understands every word that's said, — 

And he knows good milk from water-and-chalk. 
The truth is, sir, now I reflect, 

I've been so sadly given to grog, 
I wonder I've not lost the respect 

(Here's to you, sir ! ) even of my dog. 
But he sticks by, through thick and thin ; 

And this old coat, with its empty pockets, 
And rags that smell of tobacco and gin, 

He'll follow while he has eye^ in his sockets. 

There isn't another creature living 

Would do it, and prove, through every disaster, 
So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving, 

To such a miserable, thankless master ! 
No, sir ! — see him wag his tail and grin ! 

By George ! it makes my old eyes water ! 
That is, there's something in this gin 

That chokes a fellow. But no matter ! 

We'll have some music, if you're willing, 

And Eoger (hem ! what a plague a cough is, sir ! ) 
Shall march a little. — Start, you villain ! 

Stand straight ! 'Bout face ! Salute your officer ! 
Put up that paw ! Dress ! Take your rifle ! 

(Some dogs have arms, you see ! ) Now hold your 
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle, 

To aid a poor, old, patriot soldier ! 

March I Halt ! Now show how the rebel shakes, 

When he stands up to hear his sentence. 
Now tell us how many drams it takes 

To honor a jolly new acquaintance. 
Five yelps, — that's five : he's mighty knowing ! 

The night's before us, fill the glasses ! — 
Quick, sir ! I'm ill, — my brain is going ! — 

Some brandy, — thank you, — there ! — it passes ! 
Why not reform ? That's easily said ; 

But I've gone through such wretched treatment, 
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, 

And scarce remembering what meat meant, 
That my poor stomach's past reform ; 

And there are times when, mad with thinking, 
I'd sell out heaven for something warm 

To prop a horrible inward sinking. 



316 WILE\*S ELOCUTION 

9. Is there a way to forget to think ? 

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends, 
A dear girl's love, — but I took to drink ; — 

The same old story : you know how it ends. 
If you could have seen these classic features, — 

You need'nt laugh, sir : they were not then 
Such a burning libel on God's creatures : 

I was one of your handsome men ! 

10. If you had seen iiER r so fair and young, 

Whose head was happy on this breast ! 
If you could have heard the song I sung 

When the wine went round, you would'nt have guessed 
That ever I, sir, should be straying 

From door to door, with fiddle and dog, 
Ragged and penniless, and playing 

To you to-night for a glass of grog ! 

11. She's married since, — a parson's wife : 

'Twas better for her that we should part, — 
Better the soberest, prosiest life 

Than a blasted home and a broken heart. 
I have seen her ? Once : I was weak and spent 

On a dusty road : a carriage stopped : 
But little she dreamed, as on she went, 

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped ! 

12. You've set me talking, sir : I'm sorry: 

It makes me wild to think of the change ! 
What do you care for a beggar's story ? 

Is it amusing ? you find it strange ? 
I had a mother so proud of me ! 

'Twas well she died before — Do you know 
If the happy spirits in heaven can see 

The ruin and wretchedness here below ? 

13. Another glass, and strong, to deaden 

This pain : then Roger and I will start. 
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden, 

Aching thing, in place of a heart ? 
He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could, 

No doubt, remembering things that were, — 
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food, 

And himself a sober, respectable cur. 

14. I'm better now: that glass was warming. — 

You rascal ! limber your lazy feet ! 



AND ORATOKY. 317 

We must be fiddling and performing 

For supper and bed, or starve in the street. 
Not a very gay life to lead, you think ? 

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, 
And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink : 

The sooner, the better for Roger and me ! 



CLXVIIL— COMMENCEMENT MORALITIES. 

1. It is an unpleasant peculiarity of the present period 
that we think so much about thinking. The President of 
a College, when he takes leave of a little flock of just fledged 
Bachelors, tells them that they must be sure to go on cul- 
tivating their minds : that intellectual progress alone is con- 
sistent with true happiness : that they must be faithful to 
the Republic and to themselves : that he wishes them abun- 
dant prosperity and a great deal of taste. The Bachelors 
then pack up their goods and go out for a pilgrimage over 
" the hot sands of this wilderness of a world," each one 
bearing a parchment certificate that he has studied to the 
acceptance of his Faculty for four years, Greek, Latin, 
Mathematics, Natural and Moral and Intellectual Philoso- 
phy, with other small side branches of learning. Many of 
the young gentlemen so dismissed are full of rather indefi- 
nite aspirations and poetical purposes. Most of them are 
of an ingenuous spirit, and mean to be honorable, industri- 
ous, and successful. They are going out to the Battle of 
Life — for so they call it — and propose to be good soldiers. 
There is an immensity of preparation — what shall we say 
of the performance ? 

2. There is something pathetic in the consideration that 
so many must fall and fail, must die by the wayside, must 
waste mind and lose heart in the struggle — so many of 
these poor boys now starting with the morning light upon 
their unwrinkled brows! For of all failures in this world 
of disappointment, there is none so melancholy as that of 
the intellectual man missing the prize of success through 



318 



feebleness of will or the perversity of fate, and suffering 
ten-folcl more than wretches of a less sensitive nature. But 
the world moves on in its career of business or of pleasure, 
mindful for the most part only of its own affairs, and think- 
ing it does enough if it bestows a momentary sigh upon the 
private .tragedy of which every day brings a new one. A 
newspaper, consecrated to the practical bustle of affairs, can 
do no more. 

3. We believe that we have read about ten thousand 
sermons, addresses, lectures, and speeches, be the same 
more or less, upon " The Duties of the Scholar in the Nine- 
teenth Century." At any rate, we have read more of them 
than we propose ever to read again. The best of them are 
but respectable repetitions. The Bachelor of Arts is " to 
woo solitude as a bride." He is to give his days and nights 
to high philosophy. He is to be virtuous. He is to be 
truthful. He is to be patriotic. After hearing this he goes 
away : he forgets his Greek and Latin as soon as possible : 
he opens a broker's office in Wall-st., or a cotton mill in 
Lowell : he practices law and discards his virtue : he turns 
politician and has no use for it : he preaches without it ; or 
he becomes a member of Congress, and finds " high philos- 
ophy " a drug ! If he ever talks about it again, it is only 
once a year at the Commencement dinner. 

4. Of purely professional scholars we have hardly a 
hundred ija the whole^land, and most of these are engaged 
in teaching — the mill-horses, if we may say so, of classical 
routine. The rest of the Bachelors are doing something 
better — they are making money ! Now, if the President 
of a College should say to his departing pupils, " My young 
friends, be sure and make money ! " what a clamor would 
fill the academic shades ! "With what celerity would that 
respectable S. T. D. be expelled from his office, even al- 
though he couched .the obnoxious sentiment in Latin, and 
said : 

" quserenda pecunia primum est ; 



Virtus post nummos ! 



AND ORATORY. 319 

But we do not see why he should not say it, when we all mean 
it and do it, with our whole heart, and mind, and strength. 

5. And pray what should be the business of a Col- 
lege but to prepare young gentlemen for the business of 
life ? Then why should we not have Professorships of Stock 
Broking ? Chairs devoted to the art and mystery of cor- 
nering a stock? Teachers of the science of bamboozling a 
jury and of driving a coach and horses through the flaws 
of an indictment ? Lecturers on the pure mathematics of 
Number One ? Good, hard-headed, practical Doctors of the 
Main Chance, with appropriate and necessary text-books ? 
If it is to come to that at -last, why not in the beginning ? 
Questions like these bring us out of the salt fog of our cyn- 
icism into a grateful and sunny recognition of what the 
Colleges have done for us, and may, with all their faults, 
still do for us. This is a very imperfect world : it is " prone 
and obedient," as Sallust has it, " to the appetites ;" and col- 
leges, like churches, are perpetual protests against complete 
surrender to the temporal and the mechanical. They are 
a confession of faith which it is better to gabble uncon- 
sciously than not to say at all. 

6. When a man who can hardly read English, dies, and 
leaves $50,000 to endow a Hebrew chair, he acknowledges 
duly by hand and seal that there is something better than 
bulling or bearing stock. He would have scoffed at Parson 
Adams if he had. met him with iEscbylus in his pocket in 
Wall-st. ; but as the roar of that seething thoroughfare 
grows faint in his dying ears, he bethinks him that it will 
be a very good thing to have poor boys taught Greek. 
These are miracles, but we have had too many of them to 
disbelieve in them altogether. Most of our seats of polite 
learning, owe their existence to the liberality of departed 
shop-keepers. Hundreds of churches are under like obli- 
gations. A mutation of the hide and tallow market may 
give the languishing Chinese mission a new lease of life. So 
Colleges are to be cultured and endowed, and honorably 
mentioned in last wills and testaments, if for no other rea- 



320 



son than for proof that Poor Richard was right, and that 
" learning is better than house or lands." All the world, 
in a muzzy sort of way, feels and acknowledges this. 

7. On the other hand, what Wealth does for Learning, 
is amply and generously repaid, both by the new paths of 
enterprise and emolument which cultivation opens, and by 
respectable methods of expending money which refinement 
establishes. Mr. Astor would never have thought of es- 
tablishing his great library, if there had not been so many 
little ones in the country. One never knows in what form 
the planted seed will spring up. Harvard College generates 
picture galleries in New- York, and Yale may have some- 
thing to do with the Academy of Music. The beginning 
of all newspaper success, is in the dame-school where the 
alphabet is taught. The great operations of the banks are 
first scrawded upon a boy's slate. It is not the ignorant 
money-changer who is intolerable, but the money-changer 
who is ignorant of the wretchedness of ignorance. The 
main educational idea of this age is that of diffusion : that 
of a past age, concentration. We may have fewer great 
scholars than lived, and pored, and endlessly wrote in mo- 
nastic times : but what we have gained is a sufficiency of 
knowledge, so that no man need be miserable through ig- 
norance. In the promotion of this, Colleges do their part, 
especially in keeping up a high standard ; and the multi- 
plication of universities only shows an advance in the ambi- 
tion and intelligence of the masses. For this, whatever may 
be collegiate shortcomings, let us be grateful. 



CLXIX.— THE MISER. 



Cutter. 



An old man sat by a fireless hearth, 
Though the night was dark and chill, 

And mournfully over the frozen earth 
The wind sobbed loud and shrill. 

His locks were gray, and his eyes were gray, 
And dim, but not with tears ; 



AND ORATORY. 321 

And his skeleton form Lad wasted away 
With penury, more than years. 

2. A rush-light was casting its fitful glare 

O'er the damp and dingy walls, 
Where the lizard hath made his slimy lair, 

And the venomous spider crawls ; 
But the meanest thing in this lonesome room 

Was the miser worn and bare, 
Where he sat like a ghost in an empty tomb, 

On his broken and only chair. 

3. He had bolted the window and barred the door, 

And every nook had scanned ; 
And felt the fastening o'er and o'er, 

With his cold and skinny hand ; 
And yet he sat gazing intently round, 

And trembled with silent fear, 
And startled and shuddered at every sound 

That fell on his coward ear. 

4. " Ha ! ha ! " laughed the miser : " I'm safe at last, 

From this night so cold and drear, 
From the drenching rain and driving blast, 

With my gold and treasures here. 
I am cold and wet with the icy rain, * 

And my health is bad, 'tis true ; ' 
Yet if I should light that fire again, 

It would cost me a cent or two. 

5. But I'll take a sip of the precious wine : 

It will banish my cold and fears : 
It was given long since by a friend of mine — 

I have kept it for many years." 
So he drew a flask from a mouldy nook, 

And drank of its ruby tide ; 
And his eyes grew bright with each draught he took, 

And his bosom swelled with pride. 

6. " Let me see : let me see ! " said the miser then, 

" 'Tis some sixty years or more 
Since the happy hour when I began 

To heap up the glittering store ; 
And well have I sped with my anxious toil, 

As my crowded chest will show ; 
I've more than would ransom a kingdom's spoil, 

Or an emperor could bestow." 

14* 



322 



He turned to an old worm-eaten chest, 

And cautiously raised the lid, 
And then it shone like the clouds of the west, 

With the sun in their splendor hid ; 
And gem after gem, in precious store, 

Are raised with exulting smile ; 
And he counted and counted them o'er and o'er, 

In many a glittering pile. 

Why comes the flush to his pallid brow, 

While his eyes like his diamonds shine ? 
Why writhes he thus in such torture now ? 

What was there in the wine ? 
He strove his lonely seat to gain : 

To crawl to his nest he tried ; 
But finding his efforts all in vain, 

He clasped his gold, and — died. 



CLXX.— THE WRECK OF THE ARCTIC. 

H. W. Beecher. 

1. It was autumn. Hundreds had wended their way 
from pilgrimages : from Rome and its treasures of dead 
arts, and its glory of living nature : from the sides of the 
Switzer's mountains, from the capitals of various nations : 
all saying in their hearts, we will wait for the September 
gales to have done with their equinoctial fury, and then we 
will embark : we will slide across the appeased ocean, and 
in the gorgeous month of October, we will greet our longed- 
for native land, and our heart-loved homes. And so the 
throng streamed along from Berlin, from*Paris, from the 
Orient, converging upon London, still hastening toward 
their welcome ship, and narrowing every day the circles 
of engagements and preparations. 

2. They crowded aboard. Never had the Arctic borne 
such a host of passengers, nor passengers so nearly related 
to so many of us. The hour was come. The signal-ball 
fell at Greenwich. It was noon also at Liverpool. The 
anchors were weighed : the great hull swayed to the 
current : the national colors streamed aboard, as if them- 



AND OEATOKT. 323 

selves instinct with life and national sympathy. The bell 
strikes : the wheels revolve : the signal gun beats its echoes 
in upon every structure along the shore, and the Arctic 
glides joyfully forth from the Mersey, and turns her prow 
to the winding channel, and begins her homeward run. 

3. The pilot stood at the wheel, and men saw him. 
Death sat upon the prow, and no eye beheld him. Who- 
ever stood at the wheel in all that voyage, Death was the 
pilot that steered the craft, and and no one knew it. He 
neither revealed his presence nor whispered his errand. 
And so hope w T as effulgent, and lithe gayety disported 
itself, and joy was with every guest. Amid all the incon- 
veniences of the voyage, there was that which hushed every 
murmur — home is not far away, — and every morning it 
was one night nearer home, and at evening one day nearer 
home ! Eight days had passed. They beheld that distant 
bank of mist that forever haunts the vast shallows of New- 
foundland. Boldly they made it, and plunging in, its 
pliaut wreaths wrapped them about. They shall never 
emerge. The last sunlight has flashed from that deck. 
The last voyage done to ship and passengers. 

4. At noon there came noiselessly stealing from the 
north that fated instrument of destruction. In that 
mysterious shroud, that vast atmosphere of mist, both 
steamers were holding their way with rushing prow and 
roaring wheels, but invisible. At a league's distance, but 
unconscious, and at nearer approach unwarned : within hail, 
and bearing right toward each other, unseen, unfelt, till in 
a moment more, emerging from the gray mist, the ill- 
omened Yesta dealt her deadly blow to the Arctic, The 
death blow was scarcely felt along that mighty hull. She 
neither reeled nor shivered. Xeither commander nor 
officers deemed that they had suffered harm. 

5. Prompt upon humanity, the brave Luce (let his 
name be ever spoken with admiration and respect) ordered 
away his boat with the first officer, to inquire if the stran- 
ger had suffered harm. As Gourley went over the ship's 



324 



side, Oh, that some good angel had called to the bravo 
commander in the words of Paul on a like occasion, " ex- 
cept these abide in the ship ye cannot be saved." They 
departed, and with them the hope of the ship, for now the 
waters, gaining upon the hold and rising up upon the fires, 
revealed the mortal blow. Oh, had now that stern, brave 
mate, Gourley, been on deck, whom the sailors were wont 
to mind — had he stood to execute efficiently the com- 
mander's will, — we may believe that we should not have 
to blush for the cowardice and recreancy of the crew, nor 
weep for the untimely dead. 

6. But, apparently, each subordinate officer lost all 
presence of mind, then courage, and so honor. In a wild 
scramble, that ignoble mob of firemen, engineers, waiters, 
and crew, rushed for the boats, and abandoned the helpless 
women, children, and men to the mercy of the deep ! Four 
hours there were from the catastrophe of the collision to 
the catastrophe of sinking! Oh, what a burial was here! 
not as when one is borne from his home, among weeping 
throngs, and gently carried to the green fields, and laid 
peacefully beneath the turf and the flowers. No priest 
stood to pronounce a burial service. It was an ocean 
grave. The mists alone shrouded the burial place. No 
spade prepared the grave, nor sexton filled up the hallowed 
earth. Down, down, down they sank, and the quick re- 
turning waters smoothed out every ripple, and left the sea 
as if it had not been. 



CLXXL— THE FIRST PREDICTED ECLIPSE. 

Mitchell. 

1. To those who have given but little attention to the 
subject, even in our own day, with all the aids of modern 
science, the prediction of an eclipse seems sufficiently 
mysterious and unintelligible. How, then, it was possible, 
thousands of years ago, to accomplish the same great 



AND OKATORY. 325 

object, without any just views of the structure of the 
system, seems utterly incredible. 

2. Follow, in imagination, this bold interrogator of the 
skies to his solitary mountain summit ; — withdrawn from 
the world, surrounded by his mysterious circles, there to 
watch and ponder through the long nights of many, many 
years. But hope cheers him on, and smooths his rugged 
path-way. Dark and deep as is his problem, he sternly 
grapples with it, and resolves never to give over till victory 
Crowns his efforts. Long and patiently did the astronomer 
wait and watch. Each eclipse is duly observed, and its 
attendant circumstances are recorded, when, at last, the 
darkness begins to give way, and a ray of light breaks in 
upon his mind. 

3. He finds that no eclipse of the sun ever occurs unless 
the new moon is in the act of crossing the sun's track. 
Here is a grand discovery. He now holds the key which 
will unlock the dread mystery. Reaching forward with 
piercing intellectual vigor, he at last finds a new moon 
which occurs precisely at the computed time of her passage 
across the sun's track. Here he makes his stand, and 
announces to the startled inhabitants of the world that on 
the day of the occurrence of that new moon the sun shall 
expire in a dark eclipse. Bold prediction ! — mysterious 
prophet! — With what scorn must the unthinking world 
have received this solemn declaration. 

4. How slowly do the moons roll away ; and with what 
intense anxiety does the stern philosopher await the coming 
of that day which should, crown him with victory, or clash 
him to the ground in ruin and disgrace ! Time to him 
moves on leaden wings : day after day, and at last hour 
after hour, roll heavily away. The last night is gone, — the 
moon has disappeared from his eagle gaze in her approach 
to the sun, and the dawn of the eventful day breaks in 
beauty on a slumbering world. This daring man, stern in 
his faith, climbs alone to his rocky home, and greets the 
sun as he rises and mounts the heavens, scattering bright- 
ness and glory in his path. 



326 

5. Beneath him is spread out the populous city, already 
teeming with life and activity. The busy morning hum 
rises on the still air, and reaches the watching place of the 
solitary astronomer. The thousands below him, uncon- 
scious of his intense anxiety, buoyant with life, joyously 
pursue their rounds of business, — their cycles of amusement. 
The sun slowly climbs the heavens, round, and bright, and 
full-orbed. The lone tenant of the mountain top almost 
begins to waver in the sternness of his faith, as the morning 
hours roll away. 

6. But the time of his triumph, long delayed, at length 
begins to dawn : a pale and sickly hue creeps over the face 
of nature. The sun has reached his highest point, but his 
splendor is dimmed, his light is feeble. At last it comes ! 
Blackness is eating away his round disc, — onward with 
slow but steady pace the dark veil moves, blacker than a 
thousand nights, — the gloom deepens, — the ghastly hue of 
death covers the universe, — the last ray is gone, and horror 
reigns. A wail of terror fills the murky air, — the clangor 
of brazen trumpets resounds, — an agony of despair dashes 
the stricken millions to the ground, while that lone man, 
erect on his rocky summit, with arms outstretched to 
heaven, pours forth the grateful gushings of his heart to 
God, who had crowned his efforts with triumphant victory. 



CLXXIL— LARVAE. . 

B. F. Taylor. 

1. My little maiden of four years old, 
(No myth, but a genuine child is she, 

With her bronze brown eyes and her curls of gold,) 
Came quite in disgust one day to me : 

2. Rubbing her shoulders with rosy palm, 

As the loathsome touch seemed yet to thrill her, 
She cried, " Oh, mother, I found on my arm 
A horrible, crawling, caterpillar." 

3. And with mischievous smile she scarce could smother, 
Yet a glance in its daring half awed and shy, 



AND ORATORY. 327 

She added, " While they were about it mother, 
I wish they'd just finished the butterfly." 

4. They were words to the thought of the soul that turns, 
From the coarser form of a partial growth : 
Reproaching the infinite patience that yearns 

With an unknown glory to crown them both. 

5. Ah ! look thou largely with lenient eyes 

On what so beside thee may creep and cling, 
For the possible beauty that underlies 
The passing phase of the meanest thing. 

.6. What if God's great angels, whose waiting love 
Beholdeth our pitiful life below, 
From the holy height of the Heaven above, 
Couldn't bear with the worm till the wings should grow. 



CLXXIIL— A BAYONET CHAKGE. 

1. There was a bayonet charge. Let those who wish 
to know the sublimest moment in the physical existence of 
man, look at a division when the order is given to hurl it, 
silently and stealthily, but sternly and steadily into the 
jaws of destruction, whence-it can escape only by breaking 
the very teeth of the death which threatens it. It is not 
mere bull-clog daring that is then aroused : it is more than 
passionate blood which at the word leaps through the veins 
with such hot impetuosity that toughly corded nerves and 
brawny muscles quiver under the fresh life impulse. 

2. It is spirit — soul that gushes up warm and eager from 
the heart, and pours through the old blood channels with 
such vivifying tumult that the dark, dull, venous clots rush 
along as bright and sparkling as if their foaming were the 
mantles of new fermented wine. It is the capacity for 
high and glorious things — for suffering, daring and death : 
which latent before, and felt as but faint and fragmentary, 
now spring into omnipotent and full-statured existence. 

3. You do not know what they are — the capabilities of 
life — you, of the North, who tread your little daily rounds, 
in and out, and have no ambition beyond the bounds of 



328 wiley's elocution 

wealth and ease : you are dreaming, all of you. Let me 
strap a knapsack on you instead of a journal, give you a 
pistol for a pen, and put a bayonet into your hands, which 
before held a yard stick. Now, stand in the ranks, and 
wait for the word. It comes, " Charge Bayonets." " Off! 
and God be with you ! Fight your way stoutly ! it is 
for your life ! Fight it unflinchingly ! it is for your 
honor ! If you fall, the glory of the cause and the sub- 
limity of this scene will brighten your eye in spite of 
the death glaze, and hold high your hopes, even when life 
is ebbing. If you pass through you are a man forever — a 
man on a large scale of character — a man of intensity and 
concentrated force, a man who has more than glimpses 
into the magnificent possibilities of the spirit within him." 

4. Such are the men of Iluntglemari 's corps d'armes 
who escaped the chances of their glorious charge. They 
have lived ages in moments : they have passed through the 
most terrible ordeal that can test the stuff of manhood ; 
and they have recompense beyond gold or emolument, — 
self-asserted honor and a deep insight of life ; for was it 
not bordered closely and terribly with death : the men 
were by no means fresh when they were submitted to this 
trial : they had fought through a greater part of a most 
fatiguing day : they were tired to verge of exhaustion : 
they had been without provision, and worse than all an in- 
tolerable thirst consumed them : hungry, thirsty, dirty, 
every thing but dispirited. In the eyes of the world, they 
would have been justified in treating the order as a mis- 
take, whether intentional or unintentional. 

5. They had been forced back by the sheer weight of 
overwhelming numbers : new forces had been constantly 
hurried upon them, and it was but madness to refuse the 
chances of meeting reinforcements in the rear. The awful 
crash of the battle was still around them. A superior ar- 
tillery was hurling havoc into their ranks. Musketry was 
increasing its deadly volleys, and there began to be symp- 
toms of a flanking movement, and cross-fire. It was under 



AKD OEATOKY. 329 

such circumstances that Huntgleman ceased fire. It made 
a decided difference in the noise of the field: the diminu- 
tion of sound was almost a bush, though the enemy was 
blazing away as rapidly as ever : it is the guns immediately 
about that fills our ears. For an instant the great line 
wavered : this suspense was horrible, it must be filled with 
acts of some kind ! mortal men cannot stand it ! for God's 
sake let the great gap of inaction be crammed with death if 
nothing else ! " Steady, men." A resumption of the 
line; but also an increase of the adverse firing. 

6. Again a wave. " Steady, steady, men." Aye, brawl 
till you are hoarse, brave captains, but these seconds are 
centuries : you must give these men something to do : you 
must steady them by action. And here comes enough : 
aids gallop down with orders that bring every musket to 
its most threatening position. Then the cheering words 
of the commanders as they dash down the lines. Then a 
mild waving of swords by the shoulder straps, as the final 
word is given and the column starts forward. Slowly, at 
first, and rather lamely : joints stiff with fatigue; but as 
the distance from the foe is shortened, the pace is quick- 
ened. Faster, and faster moves that steadily advancing 
column, till on a run like a deer, with leaps and shouts 
like savage creatures, they hurl themselves right into the 
midst of the expectant foe ! What passed there no man 
can tell. They are not more silent who fell with death 
sealed lips than are those who came out unharmed : the 
excitement is too great for memory to hold any ground : 
all faculties are swept away in one wild thirst for blood. 



CLXXiy.— KOSSUTH'S FIRST SPEECH IN AMERICA. 

Lons Kossuth. 

1. Fkeedo^i axd Home ! what heavenly music in those 
two words ! Alas, I have no home ; and the freedom of 
my people is down-trodden. Young Giant of Free America, 
do not tell me that thy shores are an asylum to the op- 



330 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

pressed, and a home to the homeless exile. An asylum it 
is, but all the blessings of your glorious country, can they 
drown into oblivion the longing of the heart, and the fond 
desires for our native land ? 

2. My beloved native land ! thy very sufferings make 
thee but dearer to my heart : thy bleeding image dwells 
with me when I wake, as it rests with me in the short 
moments of my restless sleep. It has accompanied me 
over the waves. It will accompany me when I go back to 
fight over again the battles of thy freedom once more. I 
have no idea but thee : I have no feeling but thee. Even 
here, with this prodigious view of greatness, freedom, and 
happiness, which spreads before my astonished eyes, my 
thoughts are wandering toward home ; and when I look 
over these thousands of thousands before me, the happy 
inheritance of yonder freedom for which your fathers 
fought and bled, and when I turn to you, citizens, to bow 
before the majesty of the United States, and to thank the 
people of New York for their generous share in my libera- 
tion, and for the unparalleled honor of this reception, I 
see, out of the very midst of this great assemblage, rise 
the bleeding image of Hungary, looking to you with anxiety 
whether there be in the lustre of your eyes a jay of hope 
for her : whether there be in the thunder of your hurrahs 
a trumpet call of resurrection. 

3. If there were no such ray of hope in your eyes, and 
no such trumpet call in your cheers, then woe to Europe's 
oppressed nations. They will stand alone in the hour of 
need. Less fortunate than you were, they will meet no 
brother's hand to help them in the approaching gigantic 
struggle against the leagued despots of the world ; and 
woe also to me. I will feel no joy even here, and the days 
of my stay here will turn out to be lost to my fatherland, 
— lost at the very time when every moment is teeming in 
the decision of Europe's destiny. 

4. Gentlemen, I have to thank the people, Congress and 
Government of the United States, for my liberation from 



AND ORATORY. 331 

captivity. Human tongue has no words to express the bliss 
which I felt when I, — the down-trodden Hungary's wan- 
dering chief — saw the glorious flag of the stripes and stars 
fluttering over my head, — when I first bowed before it 
with deep respect, when I saw around me the gallant offi- 
cers and the crew of the Mississippi frigate, the most of 
them the worthiest representatives of true American prin- 
ciples, American greatness, American generosity ; and to 
think that it was not a mere chance which cast the star- 
spangled banner around me, but that it was your protect- 
ing will : to see a powerful vessel of America coming to 
far Asia, to break the chains by which the mightiest des- 
pots of Europe fettered the activity of an exiled Magyar, 
whose very name disturbed the proud security of their 
sleep : to feel restored by such a protection, and in such a 
way, to freedom, and by freedom to activity, you may be 
well aware of what I have felt, and still feel, at the re- 
membrance of this proud moment of my life. 

5. Others spoke, you acted, and I was free ! You act- 
ed ; and at this act of yours, tyrants trembled : humanity 
shouted with joy : the down-trodden people of Magyars — 
the down-trodden, but not broken, raised his head with 
resolution and with hope, and the brilliancy of your stars 
was greeted by Europe's oppressed nations as the morning 
star "of rising liberty. Now, gentlemen, you must be aware 
how boundless the gratitude must be which I feel for you. 
You have restored me to life, because restored to activity ; 
and should my life, by the blessings of the Almighty, still 
prove useful to my fatherland and to humanity, it will be 
your merit, it will be your work. May you and your glo- 
rious country be blessed for it. 



CLXXV.— CLOISTER LIFE. 

Donald G. Mitchell. 
1. The class in advance, you study curiously ; and are 
quite amazed at the precocity of certain youths belonging 



332 



to it, who are apparently about your own age. The Juniors 
you look upon with a quiet reverence for their aplomb, 
and dignity of character ; and look forward with intense 
yearnings, to the time when you, too, shall be admitted 
freely to the precincts of the Philosophical chamber, and 
to the very steep benches of the Laboratory. This last 
seems, from occasional peeps through the blinds, a most 
mysterious building. The chimneys, recesses, vats, and 
cisterns, — to say nothing of certain galvanic communica- 
tions, which you are told, traverse the whole building, in a 
way capable of killing a rat, at an incredible remove from 
the bland professor, — utterly fatigue your wonder ! You 
humbl} r trust (though you have doubts upon the point) 
that you will have the capacity to grasp it all, when once 
you shall have arrived to the dignity of a Junior. 

2. As for the Seniors, your admiration for them is 
utterly boundless. In one or two individual instances, it 
is true, it has been broken down, by an unfortunate squab- 
ble, with thick-set fellows in the Chapel aisle. A person 
who sits not far before you at prayers, and whose name 
you seek out very early, bears a strong resemblance to 
some portrait of Dr. Johnson : you have very much the 
same kind of respect for him, that you feel for the great 
lexicographer ; and do not for a moment doubt his capacity 
to compile a dictionary equal if not superior to Johnson's. 

3. Another man with very bushy, black hair, and an 
easy look of importance, carries a large cane ; and is rep- 
resented to you, as an astonishing scholar, and speaker. 
You do not doubt it : his very air proclaims it. You think 
of him, as presently (say four or five years hence) astound- 
ing the United States Senate with his eloquence. And when 
once you have heard him in debate, with that ineffable ges- 
ture of his, you absolutely languish in your admiration for 
him ; and you describe his speaking to your country friends, 
as very little inferior, if any, to Mr. Burke's. 

4. Beside this one, are some half dozen others, among 
whom the question of superiority is, you understand, strong- 



AND ORATOR Y. 333 

ly mooted. It puzzles you to think, what an avalanche of 
talent will fall upon the country, at the graduation of 
those seniors ! You will find, however, that the country 
bears such inundations of college talent, with a remark- 
able degree of equanimity. It is quite wonderful how all 
the Burkes, and Scotts, and Peels, among college seniors, 
do quietly disappear, as a man gets on in life. 



CLXXVL— CLOISTER LIFE.— Continued. 

Donald G. Mitchell. 

1. As for any degree of fellowship with such giants, as 
college seniors, it is an honor hardly to be thought of. 
But you have a classmate — I will call him Dalton, — who is 
very intimate with a dashing senior : they room near each 
other outside the college. You quite envy Dalton, and 
you come to know him well. He says that you are not a 
" green one," — that you have " cut your eye teeth : " in 
return for which complimentary opinions, you entertain a 
strong friendship for Dalton. 

2. He is a " fast " fellow, as the senior calls him ; and 
it is a proud thing to happen at their rooms occasionally, 
and to match yourself for an hour or two (with the win- 
dows darkened) against a senior at " old sledge." It is 
quite " the thing," as Dalton says, to meet a -senior familiar- 
ly in the street. Sometimes you go, after Dalton has taught 
you " the ropes," to have a cosy sit-down over oysters and 
champagne : — to which the senior lends himself, with the 
pleasantest condescension in the world. 

3. You are not altogether used to hard drinking ; but 
this you conceal, (as most young fellows do,) by drinking 
a great deal. You have a dim recollection of certain cir- 
cumstances, very unimportant, yet very vividly impressed 
on your mind, which occurred on one of these occasions. 
The oysters were exceedingly fine, and the champagne — 
exquisite. You have a recollection of something being 
said, toward the end of the first bottle, of Xenophon, and 
of the senior's saying in his playful way, — " Oh, d n 



334 



Xenophon ! " You remember Dalton laughed at this ; 
and you laughed — for company. 

4. You remember that you thought, and Dalton thought, 
and the senior thought — by a singular coincidence, that the 
second bottle of champagne was better even than the first. 
You have a dim remembrance of the senior's saying very 
loudly, " Clarence — (calling you by your family name) is 
no spooney ; " and drinking a bumper with you in confirma- 
tion of the remark. You remember that Dalton broke out 
into a song, and that for a time you joined in the chorus : 
you think the senior called you to order for repeating the 
chorus, in the wrong place. You think the lights burned 
with remarkable brilliancy ; and you remember that a re- 
mark of yours to that effect, met with very much such a 
response from the senior, as he had before employed with 
reference to Xenophon. You have a confused idea of call- 
ing Dalton — Xenophon. 

5. You think the meeting broke up with a chorus ; and 
that somebody — you cannot tell who — broke two or three 
glasses. You remember questioning yourself very serious- 
ly, as to whether you were or were not, tipsy. You think 
you decided you were not, but — might be. You have a 
confused recollection of leaning upon some one, or some- 
thing, going to your room : this sense of a desire to lean, 
you think, was very strong. You remember of being 
horribly afflicted with the idea of having tried your night 
key at your tutor's door, instead of your own room : you 
remember further a hot stove, — made certain indeed, by a 
large blister which appeared on your hand, next day. 

6. You think of throwing off your clothes, by one or 
two spasmodic efforts, leaning in the intervals, against the 
bed-post. There is a recollection of an uncommon dizzi- 
ness afterward, as if your body was very quiet, and your 
head gyrating with strange velocity, and a kind of cen- 
trifugal action, all about the room, and the college, and 
indeed the whole town. You think that you felt uncon- 
trollable nausea after this, followed by positive sickness : — 



AND OKATOBY. 335 

which waked your chum, who thought you very incoherent, 
and feared derangement. A dismal state of lassitude fol- 
lows, broken by the college clock striking three, and by 
very rambling reflections upon champagne, Xenophon, 
" Captain Dick," Madge, and the old deacon who clinched 
his wig in the church. 

7. The next morning — (ah, how vexatious that all our 
follies are followed by a — " next morning ! ") you wake 
with a parched mouth, and a torturing thirst : the sun is 
shining broadly into your reeking chamber. Prayers and 
recitations are long ago over; and you see, through the 
door, in the outer room, that hard faced chum, with his 
Lexicon, and Livy, open before him, working out with all 
the earnestness of his iron purpose, the steady steps toward 
preferment and success. 



HUMOROUS. 



CLXXYIL— THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER. 

1. In Broadstreet building, (on a winter night,) 
Snug by his parlor-fire, a gouty wight 
Sat all alone, with one hand rubbing 
His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose, 
With t'other he'd beneath his nose 
The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing, 

He noted all the sales of hops, 

Ships, shops, and slops : 
Gum, galls, and groceries : ginger, gin, 
Tar, tallow, turmeric, turpentine, and tin : 
When lo ! a decent personage in black, 
Entered and most politely said — 

" Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track 

To the King's Head, 
And left your door ajar, which I 
Observed in passing by ; 

And thought it neighborly to give you notice." 



336 wiley's elocution 

2. " Ten thousand thanks : how very few do get, 
In time of danger, 

Such kind attentions from a stranger ! 
Assuredly, that fellow's throat is 
Doomed to a final drop at Newgate : 
He knows, too, (the unconscionable elf,) 
That there's no soul at home except myself." 

" Indeed," replied the stranger (looking grave), 

" Then he's a double knave : 
He knows that rogues and thieves by scores 
Nightly beset unguarde^! doors ; 
And see, how easily might one 

Of these domestic foes, 

Even beneath your very nose, 
Perform his knavish tricks : 
Enter your room, as I have done, 
Blow out your candles — thus — and thus — , 
Pocket your silver candlesticks, 

And — walk off — thus " — 
So said, so done : he made no more remark, 

Nor waited for replies, 

But marched off with his prize, 
Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark. 



CLXXVIIL— THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

1. I vtrote some lines once on a time 

In wondrous merry mood, 
And thought, as usual, men would say 

They were exceeding good. 
They were so queer, so very queer, 

I laughed as I would die : 
Albeit, in the general way, 

A sober man am I. 

2. I called my servant, and he came : 

How kind it was of him, 
To mind a slender man like me, 

He of the mighty limb ! 
" These to the printer" I exclaimed, 

And, in my humorous way, 






AND OEATOKY. 337 

I added (as a trifling jest), 

" There'll be the devil to pay." 

3. He took the paper, and I watched, 

And saw him peep within : 
At the first line he read, his face 

Was all upon, the grin. 
He read the next : the grin grew broad, 

And shot from ear to ear : 
He read the third : a chuckling noise 

I now began to hear. 

4. The fourth, he broke into a roar : 

The fifth, his waistband split : 
The sixth, he burst five bu^ons off", 

And tumbled in a fit. 
Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, 

I watched that wretched man, 
And since, I never dare to write 

As funny as I can. 



CLXXIX.— THE MUSIC GRINDERS. 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

1. There are three ways in which men take 

One's money from his purse, 
And very hard it is to tell 

Which of the three is worse ; 
But all of them are bad enough 

To make a body curse. 

2. You're riding out some pleasant day, 

And counting up your gains : 
A fellow jumps from out a bush, 

And takes your horse's reins, 
Another hints some words about 

A bullet in your brains. 

8. Perhaps you're going out to dine, — 

Some filthy creature begs 
You'll hear about the cannon-ball 

That carried off his pegs, 
And says it is a dreadful thing 

For men to lose their legs. 

15 



338 



4. He tells you of his starving wife, 
His children to be fed, 
Poor little, lovely innocents, 

All clamorous for bread ; 
And so you kindly help to put 
A bachelor to bed. ■ 

6. You're sitting on your window-seat, 
Beneath a cloudless moon : 

You hear a sound that seems to wear 
The semblance of a tune, 

As if a broken fife should strive 
To drown a cracked bassoon. 

6. And nearer, nearer still, the tide 

Of music seems to come, 
There's something like a human voice, 

And something like a drum : 
You sit in speechless agony, 

Until your ear is numb. 

7. You think they are crusaders, sent 

From some infernal clime, 
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment, 

And dock the tail of Rhyme, 
To crack the voice of Melody, 

And break the legs of Time. 

8. But hark ! the air again is still, ■ 

The music all is ground, 
And silence, like a poultice, comes 

To heal the blows of sound : 
It cannot be, — it is, — it is, — 

A hat is going round. 

9. No ! Pay the dentist when he leaves 

A fracture in your jaw, 
And pay the owner of the bear, 

That stunned you with his paw, 
And buy the lobster that has had 

Your knuckles in his claw. 

10. But if you are a portly man, 
Put on. your fiercest frown, 
And talk about a constable 
To turn them out of town : 



AND OEATOKY. 339 

Then close your sentence with an oath, 
And shut the window down ! 

11. And if you are a slender man, 
Not big enough for that, 
Or, if you cannot make a speech, 

Because you are a flat, 

Go very quietly and drop 

A button in the hat ! 



CLXXX.— SAM WELLER'S VALENTINE. 

Charles Dickens. 

1. " I've done now," said Sam, with slight embarrass- 
ment : " I've been a writin'." 

" So I see," replied Mr. Weller. " ISTot to any young 
'ooman, I hope, Sammy." 

" Why, it's no use a sayin' it ain't," replied Sam. " It's 
a walentine." 

" A what ! " exclaimed Mr. Weller, apparently horror- 
stricken by the word. 

" A walentine," replied Sam. 

2. " Samivel, Sanxivel," said Mr. Weller, in reproachful 
accents, " I didn't think you'd ha' done it. Arter the 
warnin' you've had o' your father's wicious propensities, 
arter all I've said to you upon this here wery subject : arter 
actiwally seein' and bein' in the company o' our own 
mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought was a moral lesson 
as no man could ever ha' forgotten to his dyin' day ! I 
didn't think you'd ha' done it, Sammy, I didn't think you'd 
ha' done it." These reflections were too much for the good 
old man. He raised Sam's tumbler to his lips and drank 
off the contents. 

3. " Wot's the matter now ? " said Sam. 

" Nev'r mind, Sammy," replied Mr. Weller, '-it'll be a 
wery agonizm' trial to me at my time of life, but I'm pretty 
tough, that's vim consolation, as the wery old turkey re- 
marked ven the farmer said he wos afeerd he should be 
obliged to kill him, for the London market." 



340 . 

" Wot'll be a trial ? " inquired Sam. 

" To see you married, Sammy — to see you a deluded 
wictim, and thinkin' in your innocence that it's all wery 
capital," replied Mr. Weller. " It's a dreadful trial to a 
father's feelin's, that 'ere, Sammy." 

" Nonsense," said Sam, " I ain't a goin' to get married, 
don't you fret yourself about that : I know you're a judge 
o' these things. Order in your pipe, and I'll read you the 
letter — there." 

4. Sam dipped his pen into the ink to be ready for any 
corrections, and began with a very theatrical air — 

" < Lovely ' " 

" Stop," said Mr. Weller, ringing the bell. u A double 
glass o' the inwariable, my dear." 

" Very well, sir," replied the girl : who with great 
quickness appeared, vanished, returned, and disappeared. 

" They seem to know your ways here," observed Sam. 

" Yes," replied his father, " I've been here before, in 
my time. Go on, Sammy." 

" ' Lovely creetur'," repeated Sam. 

" 'Taint in poetry, is it ? " interposed the father. 

" No, no," replied Sam. 

5. " Wery glad to hear it," said Mr. Weller. " Poetry's 
unnat'ral : no man ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on 
boxin' day, or Warren's blackin' or Rowland's oil, or some 
of them low fellows : never you let yourself down to talk 
poetry, my boy. Begin again, Sammy." 

Mr. Weller resumed his pipe with critical solemnity, 
and Sam once more commenced and read as follows : 
" c Lovely creetur i feel myself a damned ' " — 
" That ain't proper," said Mr. Weller, taking his pipe 
from his mouth. 

6. " No : it ain't damned," observed Sam, holding the 
letter up to the light, " it's ' shamed,' there's a blot there — 
' I feel myself ashamed.' " 

" Wery good," said Mr. Weller. " Go on." 

* { c Feel myself ashamed, and completely cir — .' I for- 



AND OEATORT. 341 

get wot this here word is," said Sam, scratching his head 
with the pen, in vain attempts to remember. 

" Why don't you look at it, then ? " inquired Mr. 
Weller. 

" So I am a lookin' at it," replied Sam, " but there's 
another blot : here's a ' c,' and a ' i,' and a ' d.' " 

" Cncumwented, p'rhaps," suggested Mr. Weller. 

" No, it ain't that," said Sam, " circumscribed, that's it." 

" That ain't as good a word as circumwented, Sammy," 
said Mr. Weller, gravely. 

" Think not ? " said Sam. 

" Nothin' like it," replied his father. 

" But don't you think it means more ? " inquired Sam. 

" Yell, p'rhaps it's a more tenderer word," said Mr. 
Weller, after a few moments' reflection. " Go on, Sammy." 

7. " ' Feel myself ashamed and completely circum- 
scribed in a dressin' of you, for you are a nice gal and 
nothin' but it.' " 

" That's a wery pretty sentiment," said the elder Mr. 
Weller, removing his pipe to make way for the remark. 

" Yes, I think it's rayther good," observed Sam, highly 
flattered. 

" Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin'," said the elder 
Mr. Weller, " is, that there ain't no callin' names in it, — 
no Wenuses, nor nothin' o' that kind : wot's the good o' 
callin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or a aDgel, Sammy ? " 

" Ah ! what, indeed ? " replied Sam. 

" You might jist as veil call her a griffin, or a unicorn, 
or a king's arms at once, which is wery well known to be a 
col-lection o' fabulous animals," added Mr. Weller. 

" Just as well," replied Sam. 

" Drive on, Sammy," said Mr. Weller. 

Sam complied with .the request, and proceeded as fol- 
lows : his father continuing to smoke with a mixed ex- 
pression of wisdom and complacency, which was particu- 
larly edifying. 

" ' Afore I see you I thought all women was alike.' " 



342 wiley's elocution 

" So they are," observed the elder Mr. Weller, paren- 
thetically. 

8. " ' But now,' " continued Sam, " ' now I find what a 
feg'lar soft-headed, ink-red'lous turnip I must ha' been, for 
there ain't nobody like you, though I like you better than 
nothin' at all.' I thought it best to make that rayther 
strong," said Sam, looking up. 

Mr. Weller nodded approvingly, aud Sam resumed. 

" ' So I take the privilidge of the day, Mary, my dear 
— as the gen'lem'n in difficulties did, ven he valked out of 
a Sunday, — to tell you that the first and only time I see 
you your likeness was took on my hart in much quicker 
time and brighter colors than ever a likeness was taken by 
the profeel macheen (wich p'rhaps you may have heerd on 
Mary my dear), altho' it does finish a portrait and put the 
frame and glass on complete with a hook at the end to 
hang it up by, and all in two minutes and a quarter.' " 

" I am afeerd that werges on the poetical, Sammy," 
said Mr. Weller, dubiously. 

" No it don't," replied Sam, reading on very quickly, 
to avoid contesting the point. 

9. "Except of me Mary my dear as your walentioe, 
and think over what I've said. My dear Mary I will now 
conclude.' That's all," said Sam. 

" That's rayther a sudden pull up, ain't it, Sammy ? " 
inquired Mr. Weller. 

" Not a bit on it," said Sam : " she'll vish there wos 
more, and that's the great art o' letter writin'." 

" Well," said Mr. Weller, " there's somethin' in that ; 
and I wish your mother-in-law 'ud only conduct her con- 
wersation on the same gen-teel principle. Ain't you a goin' 
to sign it ? " 

" That's the difiiculty," said Sam : " I don't know what 
to sign it ? " 

" Sign it — Veller," said the oldest surviving proprietor 
of that name. 



AND 0BA.TORY. 343 

" Won't do," said Sam. " Never sign a walentine with 
your, own name." 

"Sign it 'Pickvick,' then," said Mr. Weller : "it's a 
wery good name, and a easy one to spell." 

" The wery thing," said Sam. " I could end with a 
werse : what do you think ? " 

" I don't like it, Sam," rejoined Mr. Weller. " I never 
know'd a respectable coachman as wrote poetry, 'cept one, 
as made an affectin' copy o' werses the night afore he wos 
hung for a highway robbery ; and he wos only a Camber- 
veil man, so even that's no rule." 

But Sam was not to be dissuaded from the poetical idea 
that had occurred to him, so he signed the letter — 

" Your love-sick 
Pickwick." 



CLXXXL— THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE: OR, THE WONDER. 
FUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY." 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

1. Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay, 
That was built in such a logical way 

It ran a hundred years to a day, 
And then, of a sudden, it — ah, but stay, 
I'll tell you what happened without delay, 
Scaring the parson into fits, 
Frightening people out of their wits, — 
Have you ever heard of that, I say ? 

2. Seventeen hundred and fifty-five, 
Georgins Secundus was then alive, — 
Snuffy old drone from the German hive. 
That was the year when Lisbon town 
Saw the earth open and gulp her down, 
And Braddock's army was done so brown, 
Left without a scalp to its crown. 

It was on the terrible Earthquake-day 
That the Deacon finished the one-hoss shay. 

8. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, 
There is always somewhere a weakest spot, — 



344 wiley's elocution 

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, 

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, 

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, — lurking still, 

Find it somewhere you must and will, — 

Above or below, or within or without, — 

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt, 

A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out. 

But the Deacon swore (as deacons do, 

With an " I dew vum," or an " I tell yeou "), 

He would build one shay to beat the taown 

'n' the keounty V all the kentry raoun' : 

It should be so built that it couldrC break daown : 

— " Fur," said the Deacon, " Vs mighty plain 

Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain ; 

'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, 

Is only jest 
T' make that place uz strong uz the rest." 

4. So the Deacon inquired of the village folk 
Where he could find the strongest oak, 
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke, — 
That was for spokes and floor and sills : 

He sent for lancewood to make the thills : 

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees ; 

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese, 

But lasts like iron for things like these : 

The hubs of logs from the " Settler's ellum," — 

Last of its timber, — they couldn't sell 'em, 

Never an ax had seen their chips, 

And the wedges flew from between their lips, 

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips : 

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, ■ 

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too, 

Steel of the finest, bright and blue : 

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide : 

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide 

Found in the vat when the tanner died. 

That was the way he " put her through.'' 

" There ! " said the Deacon, " naow she'll dew ! " 

5. Do ! I tell you, I rather guess 

She was a wonder, and nothing less ! 
Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, 
Deacon and deaconess dropped away, 



AND ORATORY. 345 

Children and grandchildren — where were they ? 
But there stood the stout old one-hoss shay 
As fresh as on Lisbon-Earthquake-day ! 

6. Eighteen hundred : — it came and found 
The Deacon's masterpiece strong and sound. 
Eighteen hundred increased by ten : 
"Hahnsum kerridge " they called it then. 
Eighteen hundred and twenty came : 
Running as usual : much the same. 

Thirty and forty at last arrive, 
-And then come fifty, and fifty-five. 

7. First of November, — the Earth-quake day. 
There are traces of age in the one-hoss jhay, 
A general flavor of mild decay, 

But nothing local, as one may say. 
There couldn't be, — for the Deacon's art 
Had made it so like in every part 
That there wasn't a chance for one to start. 
For the wheels were just as strung as the thills, 
And the floor was just as strong as the sills, 
And the panels just as strong as the floor, 
And the whippletree neither less nor more, 
And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, 
And the spring and axle and hub encore. 
And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt 
In another hour it will be worn out ! 

8. First of November, 'Fifty-five ! 

This morning the parson takes a drive. 
Now, small boys, get out of the way ! 
Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay, 
Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. 
" Huddup ! " said the parson. — Off went they. 

9. The parson was working his Sunday's text : 
Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed 
At what the — Moses — was coming next. 
All at once the horse stood still, 

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. 

— First a shiver, and then a. thrill, 

Then something decidedly like a spill, — 

And the parson was sitting upon a rock, 

At half-past nine by the meet'n'-house clock, — 

15* 



346 WILEY S ELOCUTION 

Just the hour of the Earthquake shock ! — 
What do you think the parson found, 
When he got up and stared around ? 
The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, 
As if it had been to the mill and ground ! 
You see, of course, if you're not a dunce, 
How it went to pieces all at once, — 
All at once, and nothing first, 
Just as bubbles do when they burst. 
End of the wonderful onc-hoss shay. 
Logic is logic. That's all I say. 



CLXXXIL— MRS. CAUDLE'S CURTAIN LECTURE ON UM- 
BRELLAS. 

Douglas Jerrold. 

1. That's the third umbrella gone since Christmas. 
What were you to do ? "Why, let him go home in the rain, 
to be sure. I'm very certain there was nothing about him 
that could spoil. Take cold, indeed ! He doesn't look like 
one of the sort to take cold. Besides, he'd have better 
taken cold than take our only umbrella. Do you hear the 
rain, Mr. Caudle ? I say, do you hear the rain ? And as 
I'm alive, if it isn't St. Swithin's day ! Do you hear it 
against the windows ? Nonsense : you don't impose upon 
me. You can't be asleep with such a shower as that ? Do 
you hear it, I say ? Ob, you do hear it ! Well, that's a 
pretty flood, I think, to last for six weeks; and no stirring 
all the time out of the house. Pooh ! don't think me a 
fool, Mr. Caudle. Don't insult me. He return the um- 
brella ! Any body would think you were born yesterday. 
As if any body ever did return an umbrella ! There — do 
you hear it ? Worse and worse ! Cats and dogs, and for 
six weeks — always six weeks. And no umbrella ! 

2. But I know why you lent the umbrella. Oh, yes : 
I know very well. I was going out to tea at dear mother's 
to-morrow — you knew that ; and you did it on purpose. 
Don't tell me : you hate me to go there, and take every 
mean advantage to hinder me. But don't you think it, 



AND ORATOKY. 847 

Mr. Caudle. No, Sir ; if it comes down in buckets-full, I'll 
go all the more. No ; and I won't have a cab. Where do 
you think the money's to come from ? You've got nice 
high notions at that club of yours. A cab, indeed ! Cost 
me sixteen pence at least — sixteen pence ! two-and-eight- 
pence, for there's back again. Cabs, indeed ! I should 
like to know who's to pay for 'em : I can't pay for 'em, and 
I am sure you can't, if you go on as you do : throwing 
away your property, and beggaring your children — buying 
umbrellas ! » 

3. Do you hear the rain, Mr. Caudle ? I say, do you 
hear it ? But I don't care — I'll go to mother's to-morrow : 
I will ; and what's more, I'll w T alk every step of the way, 
— and you know that will give me my death. Don't call 
me a foolish woman, it's you that's the foolish man. Ugh ! 
I do look forward with dread for to-morrow ! How I am 
to go to mother's I'm sure I can't tell. But if I die, I'll 
do it. No, Sir: I won't borrow an umbrella. No; and 
you shan't buy one. Now, Mr. Caudle, only listen to this : 
if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it in the 
street. I'll have my own umbrella, or none at all. 

4. Ha ! and it was only last week I had a new nozzle 
put to that umbrella. I'm sure, if I'd have known as much 
as I do now, it might have gone without one for me. 
Paying for new nozzles, for other people to laugh at you. 
Oh, it's all very well for you — you can go to sleep. You've 
no thought of your poor patient wife, and your own dear 
children. You think of nothing but umbrellas ! Men, in- 
deed ! — call themselves lords of the creation! — pretty 
lords, when thev can't even take care of an umbrella ! 



CLXXXIIL— SCENES FROM PICKWICK. - The Dilemma. 

Dickens. 
1. Me. Pickwick's apartments in Goswell street, al- 
though on a limited scale, were not only of a very neat and 
comfortable description, but peculiarly adapted for the res- 



348 

idence of a man of his genius and observation. His sit- 
ting-room was the first floor front, his bed-room was the 
second floor front ; and thus, whether he was sitting at his 
desk in the parlor, or standing before the dressing- glass in 
his dormitory, he had an equal opportunity of contempla- 
ting human nature in all the numerous phases it exhibits, in 
that not more populous than popular thoroughfare. 

2. His landlady, Mrs. Bardell — the relict and sole execu- 
trix of a deceased custom-house officer — was a comely 
woman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with 
a natural genius for cooking, improved by study and long 
practice into an exquisite talent. There were no children, 
no servants, no fowls. The only other inmates of the 
house were a large man and a small boy : the first a lodger, 
the second a production of Mrs. BardelPs. The large man 
was always at home precisely at ten o'clock at night, at 
which hour he regularly condensed himself into the limits 
of a dwarfish French bedstead in the back parlor ; and the 
infantine sports and gymnastic exercises of Master Bardell 
were exclusively confined to the neighboring pavements 
and gutters. Cleanliness and quiet reigned throughout 
the house ; and in it Mr. Pickwick's will was law. 

3. To any one acquainted with these points of the do- 
mestic economy of the establishment, and conversant with 
the admirable regulation of Mr. Pickwick's mind, his ap- 
pearance and behavior, on the morning previous to that 
which had been fixed upon for the journey to Eatansvill, 
would have been most mysterious and unaccountable. He 
paced the room to and fro with hurried steps, popped his 
head out of the window at intervals of about three minutes 
each, constantly referred to his watch, and exhibited many 
other manifestations of impatience, very unusual with him. 
It was evident that something of great importance was in 
contemplation ; but what that something was, not even 
Mrs. Bardell herself had been enabled to discover. 

4. " Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at last, as that 
amiable female approached the termination of a prolonged 



AND ORATORY. 349 

dusting of the apartment. " Sir," said Mrs. Bardell. 
" Your little boy is a very long time gone." " Why, it's a 
good long way to the Borough, sir," remonstrated Mrs. 
Bardell. " Ah," said Mr. Pickwick, " very true : so it is." 
Mr. Pickwick relapsed into silence, and Mrs. Bardell re- 
sumed her dusting. 

5. " Mrs. Bardell," said Mr. Pickwick, at the expiration 
of a few minutes. " Sir," said Mrs. Bardell again. " Do 
you think it's a much greater expense to keep two people, 
than to keep one?" "La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs.* 
Bardell, coloring up to the very border of her cap, as she 
fancied she observed a species of matrimonial twinkle in 
the eyes of her lodger : u La, Mr. Pickwick, what a ques- 
tion ! " " Well, but do you ? " inquired Mr. Pickwick. 
" That depends," said Mrs. Bardell, approaching the duster 
very near to Mr. Pickwick's elbow, which w r as planted on 
the table : " that depends a good deal upon the person, you 
know, Mr. Pickwick ; and whether it's a saving and careful 
person, sir." " That's very true," said Mr. Pickwick ; ei but 
the person I have in my eye (here he looked very hard at 
Mrs. Bardell) I think possesses these qualities ; and has, 
moreover, a considerable knowledge of the world, and a 
great deal of sharpness, Mrs. Bardell ; which may be of 
material use to me." 

6. " La, Mr. Pickwick," said Mrs. Bardell : the crimson 
rising to her cap-border again. " I do," said Mr. Pickwick, 
growing energetic, as was his wont in speaking of a subject 
which interested him. " I do, indeed ; and to tell you the 
truth, Mrs. Bardell, I have made up my mind." " Dear 
me, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell. " You'll think it not 
very strange now," said the amiable Mr. Pickwick, with a 
good-humored glance at his companion, " that I never con- 
sulted you about this matter, and never mentioned it, till I 
sent your little boy out this morning — eh ? " 

7. Mrs. Bardell could only reply by a look. She had 
long worshipped Mr. Pickwick at a distance, but here she 
was, all at once, raised to a pinnacle to which her wildest 



350 WILEY S ELOCUTION 

and most extravagant hopes had never dared to aspire. 
Mr. Pickwick was going to propose — a deliberate plan, too 
— sent her little boy to the Borough, to get him out of the 
way — how thoughtful — how considerate ! — " Well," said 
Mr. Pickwick, " what do you think ? " " Oh, Mr. Pick- 
wick,'' said Mrs. Bardell, trembling with agitation, " you're 
very kind, sir." " It will save you a great deal of trouble, 
won't it ? " said Mr. Pickwick. " Oh, I never thought any 
thing of the trouble, sir," replied Mrs. Bardell ; " and of 
course, I should take more trouble to please you then than 
ever ; but it is so kind of you, Mr. Pickwick, to have so 
much consideration for my loneliness." 

8. " Ah to be sure," said Mr. Pickwick : " I never 
thought of that. When I am in town, you'll always have 
somebody to sit with you. To be sure, so you will." " I'm 
sure I ought to be a very happy woman," said Mrs. Bardell. 
"And your little boy — "said Mr. Pickwick. "Bless his 
heart," interposed Mrs. Bardell, with a maternal sob. " He, 
too, will have a companion," resumed Mr. Pickwick, " a 
lively one, who'll teach him, I'll be bound, more tricks in a 
week, than he would ever learn in a year." And Mr. 
Pickwick smiled placidly. 

9. " Oh you dear — " said Mrs. Bardell. Mr. Pickwick 
started. " Oh you kind, good, playful dear," said Mrs. 
Bardell ; and without more ado, she rose from her chair, 
and flung her arms round Mr. Pickwick's neck, with a cat- 
aract of tears, and a chorus of sobs. "Bless my soul," cried 
the astonished Mr. Pickwick; — "Mrs. Bardell, my good 
woman — dear me, what a situation — pray consider. Mrs. 
Bardell, don't — if any body should come — " " Oh, let them 
come," exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, frantically: "I'll never 
leave you — dear, kind, good, soul ; " and, with these words, 
Mrs. Bardell clung the tighter. 

10. "Mercy upon me," said Mr. Pickwick, struggling 
violently, " I hear, somebody coming up the stairs. Don't, 
don't, there's a good creature, don't." But entreaty and 
remonstrance were alike unavailing : for Mrs. Bardell had 



AND ORATOEY. 351 

fainted in Mr. Pickwick's arms ; and before he could gain 
time to deposit her on a chair, Master Bardell entered the 
room, ushering in Mr. Tupman, Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snod- 
grass. "" Mr. Pickwick was struck motionless and speech- 
less. He stood with his lovely burden in his arms, gazing 
vacantly on the countenances of his friends, without the 
slightest attempt at recognition or explanation. They, in 
their turn, stared at him ; and Master Bardell, in his turn, 
stared at every body. 

11. The astonishment of the Pickwickians was so ab- 
sorbing, and the perplexity of Mr. Pickwick was so extreme, 
that they might have remained in exactly the same relative 
situation until the suspended animation of the lady was re- 
stored, had it not been for a most beautiful and touching 
expression of filial affection on the part of her youthful son. 
Clad in a tight suit of corduroy, spangled with brass but- 
tons of a very considerable size, he at first stood at the door 
astounded and uncertain ; but by degrees, the impression 
that his mother must have suffered some personal damage, 
pervaded his partially developed mind, and considering 
Mr. Pickwick the aggressor, he set up an appalling and 
semi-earthly kind of howling, and butting forward, with his 
head, commenced assailing that immortal gentleman about 
the back and legs, with such blows and pinches as the 
strength of his arm, and the violence of his excitement 
allowed. 

12. "Take this little -villain away," said the agonized 
Mr. Pickwick, "he's mad." "What is the matter? " said 
the three tongue-tied Pickwickians. " I don't know," re- 
plied Mr. Pickw 7 ick, pettishly. "Take away the boy — 
(here Mr. Winkle carried the interesting boy, screaming 
and struggling, to the farther end of the apartment). Now 
help me to lead this woman down stairs." " Oh, I'm bet- 
ter now," said Mrs. Bardell, faintly. " Let me lead you 
down stairs," said the ever gallant Mr. Tupman. " Thank 
you, sir — thank you : " exclaimed Mrs. Bardell, hysterically. 
And down stairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by 
her affectionate son. 



352 



13. "I cannot conceive " — said Mr. Pickwick, when his 
friend returned — " I cannot conceive what has been the 
matter with that woman. I had merely announced to her 
my intention of keeping a man-servant, when she fell into 
the extraordinary paroxysm in which you found her. Very 
extraordinary thing." "Very," said his three friends. 
" Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation," con- 
tinued Mr. Pickwick. " Very : " was the reply of hi3 fol- 
lowers, as they coughed slightly, and looked dubiously at 
each other, 

14. This behavior was not lost on Mr. Pickwick. He 
remarked their incredulity. They evidently suspected him. 
— "There is a man in the passage, now," said Mr. Tupman. 
" It's the man that I spoke to you about," said Mr. Pickwick, 
"I sent for him to the Borough this morning. Have the 
goodness to call him up, Snodgrass." 



CLXXXIV.— SCENES FROM PICKWICK.— Speech of Sergeant Buzfuz. 

Dickens. 

1. You heard from my learned friend, Gentlemen of the 
Jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of mar- 
riage, at which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred 
pounds. The plaintiff, Gentlemen, is a widow : yes, Gen- 
tlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some time before 
his death, became the father, Gentlemen, of a little boy. 
With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed excise- 
man, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world and courted the 
retirement and tranquillity of Goswell street ; and here she 
placed in her front parlor-window a written placard, bear- 
ing this inscription, — " Apartments furnished for a sin- 
gle GENTLEMEN. INQUIRE WITHIN." 

2. Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, Gentle- 
men, were derived from a long contemplation of the ines- 
timable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear, — 
she had no distrust, — all was confidence and reliance. "Mr. 
Bardell," said the widow, " was a man of honor, — Mr. 



AND ORATORY. 353 

Bardell was a man of his word, — Mr. Bardell was no de- 
ceiver, — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself: 
to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for 
comfort, and consolation : in single gentlemen I shall per- 
petually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell 
was, when he first won my yonng and untried affections : 
to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." 

3. Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse 
(among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, Gentle- 
tlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, 
furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her 
maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor-window. 
Did it remain there long ? ~No. The serpent was on the 
watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the sap- 
per and miner was at work ! Before the bill had been in 
the parlor-window three days, — three days, Gentlemen, — a 
being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward 
semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the 
door of Mrs. Bardell's house ! He inquired within : he 
took the lodgings ; and on the very next day he entered 
into possession of them. This man was Pickwick, — Pick- 
wick, the defendant ! 

4. Of this man I will say little. The subject presents 
but few attractions ; and I, Gentlemen, am not the man, 
nor are you, Gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contem- 
plation of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic vil- 
lainy. I say systematic villainy, Gentlemen ; and when I 
say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, 
if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have 
been more decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped, 
away. Let me tell him, further, that a counsel, in the dis- 
charge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, 
nor put down ; and that any attempt to do either the one 
or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he 
plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name Pickwick, or 
Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 

5. I shall show you, Gentlemen, that for two years 



354 



Pickwick continued to reside constantly, and without in- 
terruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall 
show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, 
waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, 
looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went 
abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it 
came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and con- 
fidence. I shall show you that, on many occasions, he gave 
half-pence, and on some occasions even sixpence, to her 
little boy. I shall prove to you, that on one occasion, 
when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in 
terms offered her marriage, — previously, however, taking 
special care that there should be no witnesses to their 
solemn contract ; and I am in a situation to prove to you, 
on the testimony of three of his own friends, — most un- 
willing witnesses, Gentlemen — most unwilling witnesses, — 
that on that morning he was discovered by them holding 
the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his 
caresses and endearments. 

G. And now, Gentlemen, but one word more. Two 
letters have passed between these parties, — letters that 
must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye, — let- 
ters that were evidently intended, at the time, by Pick- 
wick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose 
hands they might fall. Let me read the first : — " Gang- 
way's, twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. — Chops and Tomato 
sauce. Yours, Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this 
mean ? Chops and Tomato sauce ! Yours, Pickwick ! 
Chops ! Gracious heavens ! And Tomato sauce ! Gen- 
tlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and confiding female 
to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? 

7. The next has no date whatever, which is in itself 
suspicious: — "Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home to- 
morrow. Slowcoach." And then follows this very remark- 
able expression, — "Don't trouble yourself about the warm- 
ing-pan." The warming-pan ! Why, Gentlemen, who does 
trouble himself about a warming-pan ? Why is Mrs. Bar- 



AND OEATOEY. 355 

dell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this 
warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere 
cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing 
word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of 
correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view 
to his contemplated desertion ? And what does this allu- 
sion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may 
be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unques- 
tionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of 
this transaction, but whose speed will now be unexpectedly 
accelerated, and whose wheels, Gentlemen, as he will find 
to his cost, will very soon be greased by you ! 

8. But enough of this, Gentlemen. It is difficult to 
smile with an aching heart. My client's hopes and pros- 
pects are ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that 
her occupation is gone indeed. The bill is down; but there 
is no tenant ! Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass ; 
but there is no invitation for them to inquire within, or 
without ! All is gloom and silence in the house : even the 
voice of the child is hushed : his infant sports are disregard- 
ed, when his mother weeps. 

9. But Pickwick, Gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless 
destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell 
street, — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, and thrown 
ashes on the sward, — Pickwick, who comes before you to- 
day with his heartless tomato-sauce and warming-pans, — 
Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effronteiy, 
and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made ! 
Damages, Gentlemen, heavy damages, is the only punish- 
ment with which you can visit him, — the only recompense 
you can award to my client ! And for those damages she 
now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right«feel- 
ing, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a con- 
templative Jury of her civilized countrymen ! 



356 



CLXXXV.— SCENES FROM PICKWICK.— Sam Weller as Witness. 

Dickens. 

1. "What's your name, sir?" inquired the judge. 
" Sara Weller, my lord," replied that gentleman. u Do 
you spell it with a 'V or a * W ? ' " inquired the judge. 
" That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, my 
lord," replied Sam : " I never had occasion to spell it more 
than once or twice in my life, but I spells it with a ' V.' " 
Here a voice in the gallery exclaimed aloud, — " Quite right, 
too, Samivel : quite right. Spell it wid a we, my lord, spell 
it wid a we." " Who is that that dares to address the 
court?" said the little judge looking up; — "Usher!" 
" Yes, my lord ! " " Bring that person here instantly." 
" Yes, my lord." 

2. But, as the usher didn't find the person, he didn't 
bring him ; and, after a great commotion, all the people 
who had got up to look for the culprit, sat down again. 
The little judge turned to the witness as soon as his indigna- 
tion would allow him to speak, and said — " Do you know 
who that was, sir ? " "I rather suspect it was my father, 
my lord," replied Sam. " Do you see him here now ? " 
said the judge. "No, I don't, my lord," replied Sam, 
staring right up into the lantern in the roof of the court. 
" If you could have pointed him out, I would have com- 
mitted him instantly," said the judge. Sam bowed his 
acknowledgments, and turned with unimpaired cheerfulness 
of countenance toward Sergeant Buzfuz. 

3. " Now, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz. " Now, 
sir," replied Sam. " I believe you are in the service of Mr. 
Pickwick, the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you 
please, Mr. Weller." " I mean to speak up, sir," replied 
Sam. " I am in the service o' that 'ere gen'l'man, and a 
wery good service it is." " Little to do, and plenty to get, 
I suppose ? " said Sergeant Buzfuz, with jocularity. " Oh, 
quite enough to get, sir, as the soldier said ven they order- 
ed him three hundred and fifty lashes," replied Sam. " You 
must not tell us what the soldier or any other man said, 



AND ORATORY. 357 

sir," interposed the judge: "it's not evidence." " Wery 
good, my lord," replied Sara. 

4. " Do you recollect any thing particular happening on 
the morning when you were first engaged by the defendant, 
eh, Mr. Weller ? " said Sergeant Buzfuz. " Yes, I do, sir," 
replied Sam. " Have the goodness to tell the jury what it 
was." " I had a reg'lar new fit out o' clothes that mornin', 
gen'l'men of the jury," said Sam, " and that was a wery 
particler and uncommon circumstance vith me in those days." 

5. Hereupon there was a general laugh ; and the little 
judge, looking with an angry countenance over his desk, 
said, — " You had better be careful, sir." " So Mr. Pick- 
wick said at the time, my lord," replied Sam, " and I was 
wery careful o' that 'ere suit 'o clothes: wery careful, 
indeed, my lord." The judge looked sternly at Sam for 
full two minutes, but Sam's features were so perfectly calm 
and serene vthat he said nothing, and motioned Sergeant 
Buzfuz to proceed. 

6. "Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant 
Buzfuz, folding his arms emphatically, and turning half 
round to the jury, as if in mute assurance he would bother 
the witness yet — " Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller, 
that you saw nothing of this fainting on the part of the 
plaintiff in the arms of the defendant, which you have heard 
described by the witnesses ? " " Certainly not," replied 
Sam. " I was in the passage till they called me up, and 
then the old lady was not there." 

7. "Now attend, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant Buzfuz, 
dipping a large pen into the inkstand before him, for the 
purpose of frightening Sam with a show of taking down 
his answer, " you were in the passage and yet saw nothing 
of what was going forward. Have you a pair of eyes, Mr. 
Weller ? " " Yes, I have a pair of eyes," replied Sam, 
" and that's just it. If they wos a pair o' patent double 
million magnifyin' gas microscopes of hextra power, p'raps 
I might be able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal 
door ; but bein' only eyes, you see, my wision's limited." 



358 



8. At this answer, which was delivered without the 
slightest appearance of irritation, and with the most com- 
plete simplicity and equanimity of manner, the spectators 
tittered, the little judge smiled, and Sergeant Buzfuz looked 
particularly foolish. After 'a short consultation with Dod- 
son and Fogg, the learned sergeant again turned to Sam, 
and said, with a painful effort to conceal his vexation, — 
" Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question on another 
point, if you please." "If you please, sir," rejoined'Sam, 
with the utmost good-humor. 

9. " Do you remember going up to Mrs. Bardell's house, 
one night in November last ? " " Ob, yes : wery well." 
" Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller," said Sergeant 
Buzfuz, recovering his spirits, " I thought we should get at 
something at last." " I rather thought that, too, sir," re- 
plied Sam ; and at this the spectators tittered again. 
" Well : I suppose you went up to have a little talk about 
this trial — eh, Mr. Weller ? " said Sergeant Buzfuz, looking 
knowingly at the jury. "I went up to pay the rent; but 
we did get a talking about the trial," replied Sam. " Ob, 
you did get a talking about the trial," said Sergeant Buz- 
fuz, brightening up with the anticipation of some important 
discovery. " Now what passed about the trial : will you 
have the goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller ? " 

10. " Vith all the pleasure in my life, sir," replied Sam. 
" Arter a few unimportant observations from the two 
wirtuous females as has been examined here to-day, the 
ladies gets into a wery great state o' admiration at the 
honorable conduct of Mr. Dodson and Fogg — them two 
gen'l'men as is sittin' near you now." This, of course, 
drew general attention to Dodson and Fogg, who looked 
as virtuous as possible. "The attorneys for the plaintiff," 
said Mr. Sergeant Buzfuz : " well, they spoke in high praise 
of the honorable conduct of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg, 
the attorneys for the plaintiff, did they ? " " Yes," said 
Sam; "they said what a wery gen'rous thing it was o' 
them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge 



AND ORATORY. 359 

nothin' at all for costs, unless they got 'ein out of Mr. Pick- 
wick." 

11. At this very unexpected reply, the spectators titter- 
ed again, and Dodson and Fogg, turning very red, leaned 
over to Sergeant Buzfuz, and in a hurried manner whisper- 
ed something in his ear. " You are quite right," said 
Sergeant Buzfuz aloud, with affected conrposure. " It's 
perfectly useless, my lord, attempting to get at any evidence 
through the impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will 
not trouble the court by asking him any more questions. 
Stand down, sir." 

12. "Would any other gen'l'man like to ask me any 
thin' ? " inquired Sam, taking up his hat, and looking round 
most deliberately. " Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you," said 
Sergeant Snubbin, laughing. " You may go down,, sir," 
said Buzfuz, waving his hand impatiently. Sam went down 
accordingly, after doing Messrs. Dobson and Fogg's case 
as much harm as he conveniently could, and saying just as 
little respecting Mr. Pickwick as might be, which was 
precisely the object he had in view all along. 



CLXXXVL— RULES FOR PRESERVING HEALTH. 

I see there is a fellow who calls himself Dr. Hall, and 
who publishes a Journal of Health, in vvhich he gives a 
good many ridiculous rules which he says will preserve the 
health. I haven't much confidence in this fellow, for he is 
a doctor, and it is naturally against his interest to publish 
rules that will keep people healthy. I believe he has de- 
signs on the community and only wants to shatter and 
break up their constitutions. As for his rules, I can beat 
them myself, if I try, and I herewith do so. If these are 
accurately followed they will do as much good as old man 
Hall's, any time. 

1st. Never hang yourself out of an open window when 
you go to bed at night. The attraction of gravitation is 



360 



always powerful during the nocturnal hours, and it may 
draw you violently against the pavement, and tear your 
night shirt. 

2d. Always avoid drafts — on yourself — unless endorsed 
by a man with lots of " soap." 

3d. In cold weather always wear thick, warm clothing 
about your body. If you haven't money enough to buy 
it, attend an inextinguishable conflagration in the vicinity 
of a first-class clothing shop. 

4th. If you wear spectacles avoid going into any fire- 
men's riots that may be transpiring. The reason of this is, 
that in addition to having your feelings hurt, you will very 
likely get more glass in your eyes than you had outside. 

5th. If you are quite a small baby be careful that there 
are no pins in your clothes, and always take a drink of 
milk punch out of a bottle with a gum thing on the muzzle, 
before you get into your cradle. 

6th. In eating raw oysters always peel the shells off be- 
fore swallowing. The shells are indigestible and are apt to 
lay on the stomach. 

7th. Never sleep more than nine in a bed, even in a 
country hotel where a Political Convention is being held. 
It is apt to produce a nightmare if any of the party kick in 
their sleep. This is especially the case when they go to 
bed with their boots on. 

8th. Abstain entirely from alcoholic drinks. The best 
way to do that is not to drink any alcohol. 

9th. Never travel on railroad trains. Many persons 
have died quite unexpectedly by this imprudence. 

10th. Never jab butcher knives, steel forks, and such 
things into your vitals : it is very unwholesome. 

11th. Always come in when it rains, and if a rattlesnake 
bites you in the leg cut it off, unless you wear false calves 
or a wooden leg. In that case just untie it and take it off. 

I don't say that fellows who follow these instructions 
will never die and let their friends enjoy a ride to the cem- 
etery, but you won't get choked off in the bloom of your 
youth and beauty. 



AND OEATOKY. 361 

By the way, isn't it odd that as soon as death overtakes 
us, man undertakes us ? It is. It is. 



CLXXXYIL— A MAIDEN'S "PSALM OF LIFE." 

1. Tell nie not in idle jingle, 

" Marriage is an empty dream ! " 
For the girl is dead that's single, 
And girls are not what they seem. 

2. Life is real ! Life is earnest !' 

Single blessedness a fib ! 
" Man thou art, to man returnest ! " 
Has been spoken of the rib. 

3. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act that each to-morrow 
Finds us nearer marriage day. 

4. Life is long, and youth is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though light and gay. 
Still like pleasant drums are beating 
Wedding marches all the way. 

5. In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 
Be not like dumb driven cattle ! 
Be a heroine — a wife i 

G. Trust no future, howe'er pleasant, 
Let the dead past bury its dead ! 
Act — act to the living Present ! 
Heart within and hope ahead I 

V. Lives of married folks remind us 
"We can live our fives as well, 
And, departing, leave behind us 
Such examples as shall " tell." 

8. Such esample that another, 

Wasting time in idle sport, 
A forlorn, unmarried brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart and court. 

9. Let us, then be up and doing, 

With a heart on triumph set ; 

16 



362 wiley's elocution 

Still contriving, still pursuing, 
And cacli one a husband <ret. 



CLXXXVIIL— JOSH BILLIXGS OX " GONGS." 

I 

1. Josh Billixgs relateth his first experience with the 
gong, thusly : I kan never holi eradicate from my memory 
the sound ove the iirst gong I ever herd. I was settin on 
the frunt step of a tavnrn in the sity of Bufferlow, pen- 
sively smokin. The sun was goin to bed, and the hevins 
fur and near was a blushin at the performance. The Ery 
Kanal with its golden waters was on its way to Albany, 
and I was perusin the line botes a floatin bi, and thinking 
of Italy (wher I uste to live) and gondolers and gallus 
wimmin. Mi entire sole, was, az it were, in a swet — i 
wanted to klimb — i felt grate, I aktually gru. There are 
things in this life not tu be trifled with : there are times 
when a man brakes luce from hisself, when he sees spiruts, 
when he kin almost tuch the mime, and feels az if he could 
fil both bans with the stars of hevin, and almost swear he 
was a bank president — that's what ailed me. 

2. But the koarse ov tru luv never did run smuthe, 
(this is Shakcspere's opinyun tu, I and he often thunk thru 
1 quil) — jist az I waz cluin mi best — dummer, dummer, 
spat, bang, beller, crash, roar, jam, dummer, rip, whang, 
roar, menjus, rally, jump, I struck the center of the side- 
walk, with anuther I klared the gutter, and with another I 
struck the middle of the street, snortin like an injun pony 
at a band uv musick. I gazed in despair at the tavurn, 
and mi heart waz swelled up as big as a outdore uven, mi 
teeth were as loose as a string of bedes. I thot all the 
crockery in the tavurn had fell down. I thot of fenome- 
nons. I thot of Gabril and hiz horn. I was jist on the 
pint of thinkin sumthin else when the landlord kum to the 
front step uv the tavurn, holdin by a string, the bottom of 
a brass kittle. He kawled me gentli with his hand. I 
went slola and slola up to him, he kammed my fearz, he 



AND ORATORY. 363 

said it was a gong. I saw the kussed thing : he said supper 
waz reddy. 



CLXXXIX.— SPEECH OF THE HOOSIER. 

1 . Me. Speeker : I hail from the wild-fire district, State 
of Indiana, continent of North America. I am indebted 
for the high and extinguished honor, which I now enjoy, to 
the most humane and disarming constitency, that can he 
scared up in all the diggins of the mighty west. Why sir, 
if a man of parts makes his apperance among them, it beats 
all natur, what a meeking kindness they take to him. 

2. Finely sir, lastly says they to me " Swackerhammer ?' 
says they, (my name is Swackerhammer, Nathan Swacker- 
hammer,) " Swackerhammer " says they. " You are a man 
of parts, and you must go to congress." I carculate not 
says I, but sure enough, here I are ; and sir, I should de- 
serve to be catawamptiousiy chawed up, if I did not em- 
brace this proud occasion, to express to them the lofty 
depths of my gratitude. 

3. I will sing their praises as long as the waters of the 
broad Mississippi shall kiss its pebbled shore ; as long as 
the bright and beautiful rainbow displays its gorgeous tints 
across the heavens' blue arch; as long as the roaring 
tempest sweeps in awful majesty over the face of the terri- 
fied earth : yes, as long, Mr. Speeker, as long as a goose 
can stand on one foot. 

4. When I first took my seat upon this floor, and beheld 
the dazzling lustre of this spacious hall, the absteneous and 
emaciating dignity of 'this Assembly, and heard the strains 
of divine eloquence which played like the winged lightning 
around us, I felt as contamnacious as a pair of new greeced 
boots, and no more thought of trying to make a speech 
here, than of plucking bright honors from the pale-faced 
moon, or drinking a cup of sour buttermilk with a fly in it. 
But now I go it with a perfect looseness. 



364 

5. There seems to be a eutanhereous disposition on the 
part .of members from the South, and East to down upon 
us from the "West, with a contempt more lofty and letana- 
cious, than that of Col. Webb of the regular army for 
Common Marshal, before his bullet made his calf blat. 
Do the gentlemen suppose that we don't know the differ- 
ence between a halk and a handsaw ? or a shot gun and 
sixteen dollars in cash ? We pretend to have no more 
learning sir than we could get of a winter's evening, out of 
an old spelling book by the light of a pine knot. But as 
for native intellect and genuine whale hogerine we raise 
no name for it; and if there is any man here, Mr. Speeker, 
who presumes to say, that Nathan Swackerhammer aint in 
his sphere : that he aint the complete yellow flower of the 
forest : that he cant whip his weight in wild cats : that he 
aint got the fastest hoss, the prettiest sister, the ugliest 
dog in all the universe, shiver my timbers if I don't make 
a spread eagle of him, quicker than you can say " whaw " 
with your mouth stretched from ear to ear. 

6. It are a fair principle, Mr. Speeker, to render unto 
Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto Mrs. Caesar 
the things that are hers, and unto us of the West the 
things that are our'n. Them things, Mr. Speeker, we have 
sworn by the glorious triumph of New Orleans : by the 
genius of our free institutions : by the indomitable spirit of 
our Anglo-Saxon Fathers, we will achieve, or else take our 
hats and go home, and butter our brains and put our heads 
to soak. I intend, sir, before I take my seat, to halt into 
the affairs of this government, like a thirty-two pound shot : 
to perpetuate the planks of the ship of state, like a grid- 
iron; and scatter the solemn mysteries, like chickens before 
a sparrow halk. 

7. Whatever I discourse worthy of praise I shall illu- 
mine with the glittering rays of approbation, until it shines 
like fiery Apollo in his middle prime : like sparkling gems 
in kingly diamonds : like bear's eyes in a cornfield by moon- 
light ; or a tin six-pence in a bowl of hot greece. -What- 



AND OEATOUY. 365 

ever I detect of iniquity and composition, I shall pour out 
my vial of wrath upon it, with the writhing power of the 
Sirocco : I shall hurl the fulminating words of denunciation 
upon it, like thunderbolts from the arm of omnipotent Jove. 
I shall hammer it, as it were, upon a cobblers lap-stone, 
until it becomes as soft as a baked apple, and vanishes like 
roasted meat before a hungry niggar. The doctrine that 
to the spoils belong the victors, assumes the noble passion 
of my soul, and makes my mouth water enough to run a 
tread-mill — I go for it sled length. 

8, It is one of the principles of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence, and according to Scripture, which says, "Blessed 
be nothing, for a poor man is a reproach to any people," — 
I am in favor of dividing the proceeds of public lands 
among the people, until every man's sheep kines are full 
of pretentions ; and taxes are annihilated, like a musquetoe 
under the fist of Davy Crocket : — which would you rather. 
Mr. Speeker, it is more blessid to receive than to give. 
The veto power are a power, Mr. Speeker, which o'ershad- 
dows congress and the government, like a dark cloud 
laden with the blossoms of destruction. It conveys dismay 
into the hearts of widdows and orphants : it makes up the 
stormy view of popular indignation ; and showers abroad 
cart loads of the suds of dissolution as thick as autumn 
leaves in the valleys ; as pebbles upon the sea shore ; or 
cucumber bugs in a cabbage garden. 

9. Captain Taylor, sir, has resumed the responsibility, 
and John, Mr. Botts has promised to head him. Yes, sir, 
the immortal Botts, destined, by heaven, to rid his country 
of a " Cataline " or kill a hoss. He is a goin' to head him, 
sir, cause why, cause he aint got any head of his own. 
That noble and last speeker, a nation proud and jealous of 
the blessing. Push forward illustrious Botts ! let not your 
step falter ! let not your firm purpose yield ! hold fast in 
your present grasp the blazing sword of pestilence, and 
when you strike let its chivalrous edge enter his jugular ! 
as the fierce thunderbolt raises the gnarled oak : as the 



3G6 



swift winged swallow cleaves the liquid air : as the gilded 
arrow glides from the quiver of remorseless cupid ; or a 
little niggar runs when a big dog's arter him. 

10. Then with conquering hand above your head, shake 
the fragment of your blade and shout, " I too have killed a 
hog." My voice is still for war, — war to the knife. What- 
ever aint, aint right : Glory, Honor, Democracy, Vox Populi, 
Vox Dei. John Bull with his right of secesh' and his 
South Carolina, have been rearing and tearing up the turf, 
and shaking his horns, and Brother Jonithan brawling, 
" Git out you tarnal critter" long enough. The fountains 
of patriotism is exausted. Blood must be let. Gentlemen 
may cry peace : I have no objections sir, providing we can 
fight for it, if we can't have it without. 

11. But as to knocking under to John Bull in any way 
you can fix it, shiver my timbers, if I can stand it any 
longer. Hatspur says, " Cry Haddock, and let slip the 
" dogs of war." them's my sentiments exactly. Sodom 
and Gomorrow, wild fire and blazing cat-tails, why stand 
ye here idle. Why if you are all afraid of him, the State 
of Indiana will take the war by the job; for we arc half 
boss, half alligatur, and half filled with earthquake; and if 
we leave hide or hair of his, then call it " great cry and 
little wool," as the devil said when he sheared the hog. 
Thats all : I'm done. And now, Mr. Speeker, as they say 
in the theatre, my performances have completed. 



CXC— VARIETIES 



1. — An Elysium. 



1. Some " feller," with a hankering after an elysium, 
" sighs his soul away " in the following poetic effusion : 

" Oli is there not a happy land — 
A land beyond the seas — 
Where pot-pie smokes in roundless lakes, 
And dumplings grow on trees : 



AND ORATORY. 367 

Where ginger bread is found in sticks, 

And ' smearcase ' by the ton, 
And when you do a job of work, 

You get the ' ready John ? ' 
Where Nature's lessons may be read, 

In every bubbling brook, 
Where bumble bees don't sting a chap, 

And mully cows don't hook ? " 

2. — A New Reading. 
1. In a boarding-school not far from Boston the rector 
was accustomed to require the smaller boys to read every 
evening, before going to bed, a chapter of the New Testa 
ment — each a verse. One of the boys, who prided him 
self on his elocutionary ability, and frequently neglected 
orthography for emphasis, had fall to him one evening the 
verse : " And Herod laid hold on John." Rising grace- 
fully, and mistaking the I in the third word for an s, he 
thundered out : " And Herod said, hold on, John ! " 

3. — A Polite- Man. 
1. Indeed, my friends, far better it would seem 
Were you to choose the opposite extreme : 
Like one " Down East " who an umbrella took 
And from the rain gave shelter to a duck : 
Who to a limping dog once lent his arm, 
And to a setting hen said, " Don't rise, ma'am ; " 
Nor e'er to lifeless things respect did lack — 
Said always to a chair, " Excuse my back ; " 
" Excuse my curiosity," he said to books ; 
And to the looking-glass, " Excuse my looks." 

4. — Why Diggest Thou? 
1. " Old man, for whom diggest thou this grave ? " 
I asked as I walked along ; 
For I saw iu the heart of London streets 

A dark and busy throng. 
'Twas a strange, wild deed, but a wilder wish 

Of the parted soul, to lie, 
'Mid the troubled numbers of living men 
Who would pass him idly by. 



368 



So I said, " For whom diggest thou this grave, 

In the heart of London town ? " 
And the deep-toned voice of the digger replied — 

" We're laying a gas-pipe down." 

5. — Josii Billings on Bumble Bees. 

1. The Bumble Bee iz one ov naturs sekrets. They 
probably have a destiny tew fill, and are probably neces- 
sary, jf a fellow only knew how. They liv apart from the 
rest ov mankind, in # little circles, numbering about 75 or 
80 souls. They are born about haying time, and are dif- 
ferent from enny bug I kno ov : they are the biggest 
when they are fust born. They resemble sum men in this 
respekt. Their principle bizziness iz making poor honey, 
but they don't make enny to sell. 

2. Boys sumtimes rob them ov a whole summers work ; 
but thare iz one thing about a bumbel bee that boys alwuz 
watch cluss and that iz their helm. I had rather not have 
awl the bumbel bee honeythare iz between here and the 
city of Jerusalem, than to have a bumbel bee hit me with 
his helm, when he cums round sudden. They are different 
from other war vessels : the helm alwuz minds the bumble 
bee. 



CXCL— DRAMATIC STYLES. 

Blackwood's Mag. 
1. In dramatic writing, the difference between the Gre- 
cian and Roman styles is very great. When you deal with 
a Greek subject, you must be very devout, and have un- 
bounded reverence for Diana of the Ephesians. You must 
also believe in the second sight, and be as solemn, calm, 
and passionless, as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Never 
descend to the slightest familiarity, nor lay off the stilts 
for a moment ; and, far from calling a spade a spade, call it 

That sharp instrument 

With which the Theban husbandman lays bare 

The breast of our great mother. 



AND OEATOET. 369 

2. The Roman, on the other hand, may occasionally be 
jocular, but always warlike. One is like a miracle-play in 
chnrch ; — the other, a tableau yivant in a camp. If a 
Greek has occasion to ask his sweetheart " if her mother 
knows she's out," and " if she has sold her mangle yet," 
he says : 

Menesiheus. Cleanthe ! 

Cleanthe. My Lord ! 

Men. Your mother, — your kind, excellent mother, — 
She who hung o'er your cOuch in infancy, 
And felt within her heart the joyous pride 
Of having such a daughter, — does she know, 
Sweetest Cleanthe ! that you've left the shade 
Of the maternal walls ? 

Cle. She does, my Lord. 

Men. And, — but I scarce can ask the question, — when 
I last beheld her, 'gainst the whitened wall 
Stood a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy : 
Its entrail stones, and moved on mighty rollers, 
Kendering the crisped web as smooth and soft 
As whitest snow. — That engine, sweet Cleanthe, 
Fit pedestal for household deity, — 
Lares and old Penates ; — has she 't still ? 
Or for gold bribes has she disposed of it ? 
I fain would know ; — pray tell me, is it sold ? 

The Roman goes quicker to work : 

Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know 
You're out ? and has she sold her mangle yet ! 

3. The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both : 

Conradin. Ha ! Celia here ! Come hither, pretty one. 
Thou hast a mother, child ? 

Celia. Most people have, Sir. 

Con. I' faith thou'rt sharp, — thou hast a biting wit ; — ■ 
. But does this mother, — this epitome 
Of what all other people are possessed of, — 
Knows she thou'rt out, and gadding? 

Cel. No, not gadding ! 
Out, sir : she knows I'm out. 

Con. She had a mangle : 
Faith, 'twas a huge machine, and smoothed the web 
16* 



3T0 Wiley's elocution 

Like snow. I've seen it oft : it was, indeed, 
A right good mangle. 

Cel. Then thou'rt not in thought 
To buy it, else thou would not praise it so. 

Con. A parlous child ! keen as the cold North wind, 
Yet like as Zephyrs. No, no : I'd not buy it ; 
But has she sold it, child ? 



CXCIL— FUSS AT FIRES. 

1. It having been announced to me, my young friends, 
that you were about forming a fire-company, I have called 
you together to give you such directions as long experi- 
ence in a first-quality engine company qualifies me to com- 
municate. The moment you hear an alarm of fire, scream 
like a pair of panthers. "Run any way, except the right 
way — for the furthest way round is the nearest way to the 
fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so 
much the better : you can then get a good view of the 
neighborhood. If a light breaks on your view, " break " 
for it immediately ; but be sure you don't jump into a bow 
window. Keep yelling, all the time ; and, if you can't 
make night hideous enough yourself, kick all the dogs you 
come across, and set them yelling, too. A brace of cats 
dragged up stairs by the tail would be a " powerful auxil- 
iary." When you reach the scene of the fire, do all you 
can to convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down 
all the fences in the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, 
throw salt down it ; or, if you can't do that, perhaps the 
best plan would be to jerk off the pump-handle and pound 
it down. Don't forget to yell, all the while, as it will have 
a prodigious effect in frightening off the fire. The louder 
the better, of course ; and the more ladies in the vicinity, 
the greater necessity for " doing it brown." 

2. Should the roof begin to smoke, get to work in 
good earnest, and make any man " smoke " that interrupts 
you. If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot, 



AND ORATORY. 371 

cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the 
apples. Don't forget to yell ! Should the stable be threat- 
ened, carry out the cow-chains. Never mind the horse — 
he'll be alive and kicking ; and if his legs don't do their 
duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to the hogs — 
let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When 
the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the 
stone stejos ; or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe 
and chop them up. Next, cut away the wash-boards in 
the basement story ; and, if that don't stop the flames, let 
the chair-boards on the first floor share a similar fate. 
Should the " devouring element " still pursue the " even 
tenor of its way," you had better ascend to the second 
story. Pitch out the pitchers, and tumble out the tum- 
blers. Yell all the time ! 

3. If you find a baby abed, fling it into the. second 
story window of the house across the way ; but let the 
kitten carefully down in a work-basket. Then draw out 
the bureau drawers, and empty their contents out of the 
back window : telling some body below to upset the slop- 
barrel and rain-water hogshead at the same time. Of 
course, you will attend to the mirror. The further it can 
be thrown, the more pieces will be made. If any body 
objects, smash it over his head. Do not, under any cir- 
cumstances, drop the tongs down from the second story : 
the fall might break its legs, and render the poor thing a 
cripple for life. Set it straddle of your shoulders, and 
carry it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on 
the floor, and throw the crockery out of the window. By 
the time you will have attended to all these things, the 
fire will certainly be arrested, or the building be burnt 
down. In either case, your services will be no longer 
needed ; and, of course, you require no further directions, 
except. at all times to keep up a yell. 



372 



CXCIII.— BOARDING-SCHOOL BREAKFAST. 

Charles Dickens. 

1. Me. Squeeus had before him a small measure of 
coffee, a plate of hot toast, and a cold round of beef; but 
he was at that moment intent on preparing breakfast for 
the little boys. 

" This is twopenn'orth of milk, is it, waiter?" said Mr, 
Squeers, looking down into a large blue mug, and slanting 
it gently so as to get an accurate view of the quantity of 
fluid contained in it. 

" That's twopenn'orth, Sir," replied the waiter. 

" What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London," 
said Mr. Squeers, with a sigh. " Just fill that mug up 
with lukewarm water, William, will you? " 

" To the wery top, Sir ? " .inquired the waiter. " Why, 
the milk will be drownded." 

" Never you mind that," replied Mr. Squeers. " Serve 
it right for being so dear. You ordered that thick bread 
and butter for three, did you ? " 

" Coming directly, Sir." 

" You needn't hurry yourself," said Squeers ; " there's 
plenty of time. Conquer your passions, boys, and don't 
be eager after vittles." As he uttered this moral precept, 
Mr. Squeers took a large bite out of the cold beef, and 
recognized Nicholas. 

" Sit down, Mr. Niekleby," said Squeers. " Here w r e 
are, a breakfasting, you see." 

2. Nicholas did not see that any one was breakfasting 
except Mr. Squeers ; but he bowed with all becoming rev- 
erence, and looked as cheerful as he could. 

" Oh ! that's the milk and water, is it. William ? " said 
Squeers. " Very good : don't forget the bread and but- 
ter presently." 

At this fresh mention of the bread and butter, the five 
little boys looked very eager, and'followed the waiter out 
with their eyes : meanwhile Mr. Squeers tasted the milk 
and water. 



AND ORATORY. 373 

" Ah ! " said that gentleman, smacking his lips, " here's 
richness ! Think of the many beggars and orphans in the 
streets that would be glad of this, little boys ! A shock- 
ing thing hunger is, isn't it, Mr. Nickleby ? " 

" Very shocking, Sir," said Nicholas. 

" When I say number one," pursued Mr. Squeers, put- 
ting the mug before the children, "the boy on the left 
hand nearest the window may take a drink ; and when I 
say number two the boy next him will go in, and so till 
we come to number five, which is the last boy. Are you 
ready ? " 

" Yes, Sir," cried all the boys, with great eagerness. 

3. " That's right," said Squeers, calmly getting on with 
his breakfast : " keep ready till I tell you to begin. Sub- 
due your appetites, my dears, and you've conquered human 
natur. This is the way we inculcate strength of mind, Mr. 
Nickleby," said the schoolmaster, turning to Nicholas, and 
speaking with his mouth very full of beef and toast. 

" Thank God for a good breakfast," said Squeers, when 
he had finished. " Number one may take a drink." 

Number one seized the mug ravenously, and had just 
drunk enough to make him wish for more, when Mr. 
Squeers gave the signal for number two, who gave up at 
the same interesting moment to number three, and the 
process was repeated till the milk and water terminated 
with number five. ■ 

" And now," said the schoolmaster, dividing the bread 
and butter for three into as many portions as there were 
children, " you had better look sharp with your breakfast, 
for the horn will blow in a minute or two, and then every 
boy leaves off." / 

Permission being thus given to fall to, the boys began 
to eat voraciously, and in desperate haste, while the school- 
master (who was in high good-humor after his meal) picked 
his teeth with a fork and looked smilingly on. 



374: 



CXCIV.— MRS. CAUDLE'S LECTURE ON SHIRT-BUTTONS, 

Douglas Jekrold. 

1. Theue, Mr. Caudle, I hope you're in a little better 
temper than you were this morning. There, you needn't 
begin to whistle : people don't come to bed to whistle. 
But it's like you : I can't speak, that you don't try to in- 
sult me. Once, I used to say you were the best creature 
living : now, you get quite a fiend. Do let you rest ? 
No, I won't let you rest. It's the only time I have to talk 
to you, and you shall hear me. I'm put upon all day long : 
it's very hard if I can't speak a word at night ; and it isn't 
often I open my mouth, goodness knows ! 

2. Because once in your lifetime your shirt wanted a 
button, you must almost swear the roof off the house. 
You didnH swear ? Ha, Mr. Caudle ! you don't know 
what you do when you're in a passion. You were not in 
a passion, weren't you ? Well, then I don't know what a 
passion is ; and I think I ought by this time. I've lived 
long enough with you, Mr. Caudle, to know that. 

3. It's a pity you haven't something worse to complain 
of than a button off your shirt. If you'd some wives, you 
would, I know. I'm sure I'm never without a needle-and- 
thread in my hand ; what with you and the children, I'm. 
made a perfect slave of. And what's my thanks ? Why, 
if once in your life a button's off your shirt — what do you 
say ? I say once, Mr. Caudle ; or twice or three times, at 
most. I'm sure, Caudle, no man's buttons in the world 
are better looked after than yours. I only wish I'd kept 
the shirts you had when you were first married ! I should 
like to know where were you buttons then ? 

4. Yes, it is worth talking of! But that's how you 
always try to put me down. You fly into a rage, and 
then, if I only try to speak, you won't hear me. That's 
how you men always will have all the talk to yourselves : 
a poor woman isn't allowed to get a word in. A nice no- 
tion you have of a wife, to suppose she's nothing to think 
of but her husband's buttons. A pretty notion, indeed, 



AND OEATOEY. 375 

you have of marriage. Ha ! if poor women only knew 
what they had to go through ! What with buttons, and 
one thing and another ! They'd never tie themselves up 
to the best man in the world, I'm sure. What would they 
do, Mr. Caudle ? — Why, do much better without you, I'm 
certain. 

5. And it's my belief, after all, that the button wasn't 
off the shirt : it's my belief that you pulled it off, that you 
might have something to talk about. Oh, you're aggra- 
vating enough, when you like, for any thing ! All I know 
is, it's very odd that the button should be off the shirt ; 
for I'm sure no woman's a greater slave to her husband's 
buttons than I am. I only say it's very odd. 

6. However, there's one comfort : it can't last long. 
I'm worn to death with your temper, and sha'n't trouble 
you a great while. Ha, you may laugh ! And I dare say 
you would laugh ! I've no doubt of it ! That's your love : 
that's your feeling ! I know that I'm sinking every day, 
though I say nothing about it. And when I'm gone, we 
shall see how your second wife will look after your but- 
tons ! You'll find out the difference, then. Yes, Caudle, 
you'll think of me, then; for then, I hope, you'll never 
have a blessed button to your back. 



CXCV.— LEGEND OF LAKE SARATOGA. 

John G. Saxe. 

1. A lady stands beside the silver lakej 

" What," said the Mohawk, " would'st thou have me do ? " 
" Across the water, Sir, be pleased to take 
Me and my children in thy bark canoe." 

2. " Ah ! " said the Chief, " thou knowest not, I think, 

The legend of the lake— hast ever heard 
That in its wave the stoutest boat will sink, 
If any passenger shall speak a word ? " 

3. " Full well we know the Indian's strange belief," 

The lady answered, with a civil smile ; 



370 



" But take us o'er the water, mighty chief : 
In rigid silence we will sit the while." 

4. Thus they embarked, but ere the little boat 

Was half across the lake, the woman gave 
Her tongue its wonted play ! — but still they float, 
And pass in safety o'er the utmost wave ! 

5. Safe on the shore, the warrior looked amazed, 

Despite the stoic calmness of his race : 
No word he spoke, but long the Indian gazed 
In moody silence on the woman's face. 

6. " What think you now ? " the lady gayly said : 

" Safely to land your frail canoe is brought ! 
No harm, you see, has touched a single head : 
So superstition ever comes to naught ! " 

7. Smiling, the Mohawk said, " Our safety shows 

That God is merciful to old and young : 
Thanks unto the Great Spirit ! — well he knows 
The pale-faced woman cannot hold her tongue ! " 



CXCVL— ODE TO MY NEW BONNET. 

1. Soft triangle of straw and lace 
That curves around my blushing face* 
With such a coy, bewitching grace, 

No mortal man would dream your place 
Was on my head. 

2. Your airy touch can scarcely press 
The shape from curl or flowing tress, 
So light, so next to nothingness, 
You surely could not well be less 

And be a bonnet. 

3. A bit of straw adorned with leather, 
A yard of lace, a spray of heather, 
Some bugles and a tossing feather, 
These trifles shaken altogether — 

Thus were you made. 

4. No cape with starchy netting lined, 
No buckram crown projects behind ; 
But streamers flutter in the wind, 



AND ORATORY. 377 

There flows, in silken mesh confined, 
My waterfall. 

5. Yet most your dainty form I prize, 
As sweeping back above mine eyes 
It lets the drinkled hillock rise, 
Where underneath in ambush lies 

My pair of mice. 

6. But when rough Autumn winds sweep past, 
And all your laces shake aghast, 

Then can you shield me from the blast, 
And round my neck a shelter cast 
To keep me warm ? 

7. Alas, a summer friend are you, 
And only kind while skies are blue : 
I long have known the saying true — 
Old friends are better than the new 

When trouble comes. 

8. So ere the dog-day heats be fled 
Let me your flimsy glories spread ; 
For soon as Winter whistles dread 
I'll tie once more about my head 

My old scoop bonnet. 



CXCVIL— POETEY r> T OW-A-DAYS. 

1. How very absurd is half the stuff 

Called " Poetry," now-a-days ! 
The " Stanzas," and " Epics," and " Odes," are enough 
To put every lover of rhyme in a huff, 

And disgust the old hens with their " lays." 

2. There's one sighing for " wings to soar o'er the sea," 

And " bask in some distant clime," 
Without ever thinking how " sore " he'd be, 
After flying away on such a spree, 

With nothing to eat, the meantime. 

3. Another insists on being a " bird," 

To " fly to Ins lady-love's bower," 
When he knows that the " lady " to whom he referred 
Don't own such a thing ; for (upon my word) 
In a " yaller " brick house, up in story the third, 

She's living this very hour. 



378 



4. One asks but " a cave in some forest dell, 

Away from the cold world's strife." 
Now, the woods in fine weather are all very well, 
Put give him a six weeks 1 " rainy spell," 
And he'll soon " cave in" in his forest cell, 

And be sick enough of the life. 

5. Another one wants his " love to go 

And roam o'er the dark blue sea : " 
Perhaps he don't think, if there " comes on a blow," 
That they'd both be sea-sick down below, 

And a wretched pair they'd be. 

6. Another young man would like to die 

" When the roses bloom in spring." 
Just let him get sick, and he'll change his cry : 
His " passing away " is " all in my eye ; " 
Of " dreamless sleeps " lie gets quite shy : 

It isn't exactly the thing. 

7. Another would " die and be laid in a dell, 

Beneath some murmuring rill." 
Now, in poetry's jingle, it's nice to tell ; 
But a nasty, wet place ! — so why not as well 

Have a nice, dry grave on the hill ? 

8. One "loves " — how he loves ! — " the glittering foam 

And th'e mad waves' angry strife." 
Just take the young genius who wrote the pome, 
Where the " billows dash and the sea-birds roam," 
And he'd give all he had to be safely at home : 

He'd stay there the rest of his life. 

9. Another young " heart-broken " calls on his " own, 

To cheer him with one sweet smile ; " 
Then he follows it up in a love-sick tone, 
With his " bosom pangs : " (if the truth was known,) 
It isn't the " love " that causes his moan, 

But a superabundance of." bile." 



CXCVIIL— ALL TIPSY BUT ME. 

1. Opt of the tavern I've just stepped to-night — 
Street ! you arc caught in a very bad plight : 
Right hand and left hand are both out of place — 
Street, you are drunk : 'tis a very clear case. 



AND ORATORY. 379 

2. Moon ! 'tis a very queer figure you cut : 
One eye is staring while t'other is shut — 
Tipsy, I see, and you're greatly to blame : 
Old as you are, 'tis a horrible shame. 

3. Then the street lamps — what a scandalous sight ! 
None of them soberly standing upright : 
Rocking and staggering — why, on my word, 
Each of those lamps is as drunk as a lord. 

4. All is confusion ! now isn't it odd ? 
Nothing is sober that I see abroad : 

Sure it were rash with this crew to remain : 
. Better go into the tavern again. 



CXCIX.— A MODEST WIT. 

A supercilious nabob of the east — 

Haughty, being great — purse-proud, being rich, 
A governor, or general, at the least, 

I have forgotten which — 
Had in his family an humble youth, 

Who went from England in his patron's suite, 
An unassuming boy, and in truth 

A lad of decent parts, and good repute. 

This youth had sense and spirit ; 

But yet, with all his sense, 

Excessive diffidence 
Obscured his merit. 

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, 
His honor, proudly free, severely merry, 

Conceived it would be vastly fine 
To crack a joke upon his secretary. 

" Young man," he said, " by what art, craft or trade, 
Did your good father gain a livelihood ? " — 

" He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, 
" And in his time was reckoned good." 

" A saddler, eh ! and taught you Greek, 

Instead of teaching you to sew ! 
Pray, why did not your father make 

A saddler, sir, of you ? " 



380 



Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, 

The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. 

At length Modestus, bowing low, 
Said, (craving pardon, if too free he made,) 

" Sir, by your leave I fain would know 
Your father's trade ! " 

" My father's trade ! Bless me, that's too bad ! 
My father's trade ? Why, blockhead, are you mad ? 
My father, sir, did never stoop so low — 
He was a gentleman, I'd have you know." 

" Excuse the liberty I take," 

Modestus said, with archness on his brow, • 
" Pray, why did not your father make 

A gentleman of you ? " 



CC— THE JESTER CONDEMNED TO DEATH. 

Horace Smith. 

1. One of the Kings of Scanderoon, a royal jester, 
had in his train a gross buffoon, who used to pester the 
court with tricks inopportune, venting on the highest folks 
his scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes. It needs some sense 
to play the fool : which wholesome rule occurred not to 
our jacanapes, who consequently found his freaks lead to 
innumerable scrapes, and quite as many kicks and tweaks : 
which only made him faster try the patience of his master. 

2. Some sin, at last, beyond all measure, incurred the 
desperate displeasure of his serene and raging Highness. 
Whether the wag had twitched his beard, which he was 
bound to have revered, or had intruded on the shyness of 
the seraglio, or let fly an epigram at royalty, none knows 
— his sin was an occult one ; but records tell us that the 
Sultan, meaning to terrify the knave, exclaimed, " 'Tis 
time to stop that breath ! Thy doom is sealed, presump- 
tuous slave ! Thou stand'st condemned to death ! Silence, 
base rebel ! no replying. But such is my indulgence still, 
that, of my own free grace and will, I leave to thee the 
mode of dying." " Your royal will be done : 'tis just," 



AND ORATOEY. 381 

replied the wretch, and kissed the dust : " since, my last 
moments to assuage, your majesty's humane decree has 
deigned to leave the choice to me, I'll die, so please you, 
of old age ! " 



CCL— PARODY,— THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 

1. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, 

When fond recollection presents them to view ! 
The cheese-press, the goose-pond, .the pigs in the wild- wood, 

And every old stump that my infancy knew. 
The big linkum-basswood, with wide- spreading shadow: 

The horses that grazed where my grandmother fell : 
The sheep on the mountain, the calves in the meadow, 

And all the young kittens we drowned in the well — 
The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens, 
The poor little kittens, we drowned in the well. 

2. I remember with pleasure my grandfather's goggles, 

Which rode so majestic astraddle his nose ; 
And the harness, oft mended with tow-string and "toggles," 

That belonged to old Dolly, now free from her woes. 
And fresh in my heart is the long maple wood-pile, 

Where often I've worked with beetle and wedge, 
Striving to whack up enough to last for a good while, 

And grumbling because my old ax had no edge. 
And there was the kitchen, and pump that stood nigh it, 

Where we sucked up the drink through a quill in the spout, 
And the hooks where we hung up the pumpkin to dry it ; 

And the old cider pitcher, "no doing without : " 
The brown earthen pitcher, the nozzle-cracked pitcher, 
The pain-easing pitcher, "no doing without." 

3. And there was the school-house, away from each dwelling, 

Where school-ma'ams would govern with absolute sway : 
Who taught me my " 'rithmetic," reading, and spelling, 

And " whaled me like blazes" about every day ! 
I remember the ladder that swung in the passage, 

Which led to the loft, in the peak of the house : 
Where my grandmother hung up her "pumpkin and sausage," 

To keep them away from the rat and the mouse. 
But now, far removed from that nook of creation, 

Emotions of grief big as tea-kettles swell, 



382 



When Fancy rides back to my old habitation, 

And thinks of the kittens we drowned in the well- 
The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens, 
The poor little kittens, we drowned in the well. 



DIALOGUES, 



CCIL— SCENE FROM THE LADY OF LYOXS. 

Lytton. 

[Claude Melnotte, who had received many indignities to his slighted 
love, from Pauline, married her under the false appearance of an Italian 
prince. He afterward repents: makes proper amends; and, impelled by 
affection, and a noble ambition, conquers a position, and becomes, in fact, 
her husband. ] 

Melnotte's cottage — Widow bustling about. ■ A table spread for supper. 

"Widow. So — I think that looks very neat. He sent me a line, so 
blotted that I can scarcely read it, to say he would be here almost imme- 
diately. She must have loved him well indeed, to have forgotten his 
birth ; for .though he was introduced to her in disguise, he is too honorable 
not to have revealed to her the artifice which her love only could forgive. 
Well, I do not wonder at it ; for though my son is not a prince, he ought 
to be one, and that's almost as good. [Knock at the door.'] Ah ! here 
they are. [Enter Melnotte and Pauline.] 

Widow. Oh, my boy — the pride of my heart! — welcome, welcome ! I 
beg pardon, Ma'am, but I do love him so ! 

Paidine. Good woman, I really — Why, Prince, what is this ? — does the 
old woman know you? Oh, I guess you have done her some service. 
Another proof of your kind heart, is it not? 

Melnotte. Of my kind heart, ay ! 

Pauline. So you know the prince ? 

Widow. Know him, Madame? — Ah, I begin to fear it is you who 
know him not ! 

Pauline. Do you think she is mad ? Can we stay here, my lord ? I 
think there is something very wild about her. 

Melnotte. Madame, T — No, I can not tell her ! My knees knock to- 
gether : what a coward is a man. who has lost his honor ! Speak to her — 
speak to her — [to his mother] — tell her that — Heaven, that I were 
dead! 

Pauline. How confused he looks ! — this strange place — this woman — 
what can it mean ? I half suspect — Who are you, Madame ? — who are 
you? Can't you speak? are you struck dumb ? 



AND ORATORY. 383 

Widow. Claude, you have not deceived her ? — Ah, shame upon you ! 
I thought that, before you went to the altar, she was to have known all ? 

Pauline. All ! what ? My blood freezes in my veins ! 

Widow. Poor lady ! — dare I tell her, Claude ? [Melnotte makes a sign 
of assent.'] Know you not then, Madame, that this young man is of poor 
though honest parents ? Know you not that you are wedded to my son, 
Claude Melnotte ? 

Pauline. Your son ! hold ! hold ! do not speak to me — [approaches 
Melnotte and lays her hand on his arm."] Is this a jest ? Is it ? I know 
it is : only speak — one word — one look — one smile. I can not believe — 
I, who loved thee so — I can not believe that thou art such a — No, I will 
not wrong thee by a harsh word. — Speak ! 

Melnotte. Leave us — have pity on her, on me : leave us. 

Widow. Claude ! that I should live to see thee bowed by shame ! 
thee, of whom I was so proud ! [Exit Widow, 

Pauline. Her son ! her son ! 

Melnotte. Now, lady, hear me. 

Pauline. Hear thee ? 

Ay, speak. Her son ! have fiends a parent ? Speak, 
That thou mayst silence curses — Speak ! 

Melnotte. No, curse me : 

Thy curse would blast me less than thy forgiveness - 

Pauline, [laughing wildly.'} " This is thy palace, where the perfumed 
light 
Steals through the mist of alabaster lamps, 
And every air is heavy with the sighs 
Of orange-groves, and music from sweet lutes, 
And murmurs of low fountains, that gush forth 
I' the midst of roses ! " Dost thou like the picture ? 
This is my bridal home, and thou my bridegroom ! 
fool ! — dupe ! — wretch ! — I see it all — 
The by-word and the jeer of every tongue 
In Lyons ! Hast thou in thy heart one touch 
Of human kindness ? If thou hast, why, kill me, 
x\.nd save thy wife from madness. No, it can not, 
It can not be ! this is some horrid dream : 

*I shall wake soon. [Touching him.~\ Art flesh ? art man ? or but 
The shadows seen in sleep ? — It is too real. 
What have I done to thee — how sinned against thee, 
That thou shouldst crush me thus ? 

Melnotte. Pauline ! by pride 

Angels have fallen ere thy time : by pride — 
That sole alloy of thy most lovely mold — 



384 



The evil spirit of a bitter love, 

And a revengeful heart, had power upon thee. 

From my first years, my soul was filled with thee : 

I saw thee, midst the flowers the lowly boy 

Tended, unmarked by thee — a spirit of bloom, 

And joy, and freshness, as if Spring itself 

Were made a living thing, and wore thy shape ! 

I saw thee ! and the passionate heart of man 

Entered the breast of the wild-dreaming boy ; 

And from that hour I grew — what to the last 

I shall be — thine adorer ! Well ! this love, 

Yain, frantic, guilty, if thou wilt, became 

A fountain of ambition and bright hope : 

I thought of tales that by the winter hearth 

Old gossips tell — how maidens, sprung from kings, 

Have stooped from their high sphere : how Love, like Death, 

Levels all ranks, and lays the shepherd's crook 

Beside the scepter. Thus I made my home 

In the soft palace of a fairy Future ! 

My father died ; and I, the peasant-born, 
Was my own lord. Then did I seek to rise 
Out of the prison of my mean estate ; 
And, with such jewels as the exploring Mind 
Brings from the caves of Knowledge, buy my ransom 
From those twin jailers of the daring heart — 
Low Birth and iron Fortune. The bright image, 
Glassed in my soul, took all the hues of glory, 
And lured me on to those inspiring toils 
By which man masters man ! For thee I grew 
A midnight student o'er the dreams of sages : 
For thee I sought to borrow from each Grace, 
And every Muse, such attributes as lend 
Ideal charms to Love. I thought of thee, 
And passion taught me Poesy — of thee, 
And on the painter's canvas grew the life 
Of beauty ! — Art became the shadow 
Of the dear star-light of thy haunting eyes ! 
Men called me vain — some mad : I heeded not, 
But still toiled on — hoped on — for it was sweet, 
If not to win, to feel more worthy thee ! 

Pauline. Has he a magic to exorcise hate ? 

Melnotte. At last, in one mad hour, I dared to pour 
The thoughts that burst their channels into song, 



AND OEATORY. 385 

And sent them to thee, — such a tribute, lady, 

As beauty rarely scorns, even from the meanest. 

The name — appended by the burning heart 

That longed to show its idol what bright things 

It had created — yea, the enthusiast's name 

That should have been thy triumph, was thy scorn ! 

That very hour, — when passion, turned to wrath, 

Resembled hatred most — when thy disdain 

Made my whole soul a chaos, — in that hour 

The tempters found me a revengeful tool 

For their revenge ! Thou hadst trampled on the worm — 

It turned and stung thee ! 

Pauline. Love, Sir, hath no sting. 

What was the slight of a poor powerless girl 
To the deep wrong of this most vile revenge ? 
Oh, how I loved this man ! — a serf ! — a slave ! 

Melnotte. Hold, lady ! — No, not slave ! Despair is free. 
I will not tell thee of the throes — the struggles — 
The anguish — the remorse. No — let it pass ! 
And let me come to such most poor atonement 

Yet in my power. Pauline ! — [Approaching her with great 

emotion, and about to take her hand. 

Pauline. No, touch me not ! 

I know my fate. You are, by law, my tyrant ; 
And I — Heaven ! — a peasant's wife ! I'll work, 
Toil, drudge : do what thou wilt ; but touch me not : 
Let my wrongs make me sacred ! 

Melnotte. Do not fear me. 

Thou dost not know me, Madame : at the altar 
My vengeance ceased — my guilty oath expired ! 
Henceforth, no image of some marble saint, 
Niched in cathedral's aisles, is hallowed more 
From the rude hand of sacrilegious wrong. 
I am thy husband — nay, thou need'st not shudder;— 
Here, at thy feet, I lay a husband's rights. 
A marriage thus unholy — unfulfilled — 
A bond of fraud — is, by the laws of France, 
Made void and null. To-night, then, sleep — in peace. 
To-morrow, pure and virgin as this morn 
I bore thee, bathed in blushes, from the altar, 
Thy father's arms shall take thee to thy home. 
The law shall do thee justice, and restore 
Thy right to bless another with thy love, 

17 



386 



And when thou art happy, and hast half forgot 
Him who so loved — so wronged thee, think at least 
Heaven left some remnant of the angel still 
In that poor peasant's nature ! — Ho ! my mother ! 

Enter "Widow. 
Conduct this lady (she is not my wife — 
She is our guest, our honored guest, my mother !) 
To the poor chamber where the sleep of virtue 
Never beneath my father's roof 
E'en villains dared to mar ! Now, lady, now, 
I think thou wilt believe me. Go, my mother ! 

Widow. She is not thy wife ! 

Melnottc. Hush ! hush ! for mercy sake : 

Speak not, but go. [Widow ascends tJie stairs : Pauline 

follows weeping — turns to look back. 

Melnolte [sinking down.] All angels bless and guard her ! 



CCIIL— THE SENSITIVE AUTHOR. 

R. B. Sheridan. 
[In this dialogue from "The Critic, or a Tragedy Rehearsed," Sher- 
idan caricatured the peculiarities of Richard Cumberland, a vain and sen- 
sitive, but good man, a writer of several plays, who died in 1811.] 

Characters — Dangle, Sneeb, Sir Fretful Plagiary. 

Dangle. Ah, my dear friend ! We were just speaking 
of your tragedy. Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable ! 

Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful, 
never in your life. 

Sir F Sincerely then, — do you like the piece ? 

Sneer. Wonderfully ! 

Sir F. But come now, there must be something that 
you think might be mended, hey ? — Mr. Dangle, has noth- 
ing struck you ? 

Dan. Why, faith, it is but an ungracious thing, for the 
most part, to 

Sir F. With most authors it is just so indeed : they are 
in general strangely tenacious ! But, for my part, I am 
never so well pleased as when a judicious critic points out 
any defect in me ; for what is the purpose of showing a 



AND OEATOEY. 387 

work to a friend, if you don't mean to profit by his 
opinion ? 

Sneer. Yery true. "Why, then, though I seriously ad- 
mire the piece upon the whole, yet there is one small objec- 
tion ; which, if you'll give me leave, I'll mention. 

Sir F. Sir, you can't oblige me more. 

Sneer. I think it wants incident. 

Sir F. You surprise me !— wants incident ? 

Sneer. Yes : I own, I think the incidents are too few. 

Sir F. Believe me, Mr. Sneer, there is no person for 
whose judgment I have a more implicit deference. But I 
protest to you, Mr. Sneer, I am only apprehensive that the 
incidents are too crowded. My dear Dangle, how does it 
strike you ? 

Dan. Really, I can't agree with my friend Sneer. I 
think the plot quite sufficient ; and the first four acts by 
many degrees the best I ever read or saw in my life. If I 
might venture to suggest anything, it is that the interest 
rather falls oft in the fifth. 

Sir F. Rises, I believe, you mean, sir 

Dan. No : I don't upon my word. 

Sir F Yes, yes, you do, upon my word, — it certainly 
don't fall off, I assure you. No, no, it don't fall off. 

Dan. Well, Sir Fretful, I wish you may be able to get 
rid as easily of the newspaper criticisms as you do of ours. 

Sir F. The newspapers ! — Sir, they are the most villain- 
ous—licentious — abominable — infernal — Not that I ever 
read them ! No ! I make it a rule never to look into a 
newspaper. 

Dan. You are quite right, — for it certainly must hurt 
an author of delicate feelings to see the liberties they take. 

Sir F. No ! — quite the contrary : their abuse is, in fact, 
the best panegyric — I like it of all things. An author's 
reputation is only in danger from their support. 

Sneer. Why, that's true, — and that attack now on you 
the other day 

Sir F What? where? 



388 

Dan. Ay, you mean in a paper of Thursday : it was 
completely ill-natured, to be sure. 

Sir F. O, so much the better — Ha ! ha ! ha ! — I wouldn't 
have it otherwise. 

Dan. Certainly, it's only to be laughed at : for 

Sir F You don't happen to recollect what the fellow 
said, do you ? 

Sneer. Pray, Dangle — Sir Fretful seems a little anx- 
ious 

Sir F. O no ! — anxious, — not I, — not the least. I — 
But one may as well hear, you know. 

Dan. Sneer, do you recollect? — [Aside to Sseer.] 
Make out something. 

Sneer. [Aside to Dangle.] I will. [Aloud.] Yes, 
yes, I remember perfectly. 

Sir F. Well, and pray now — not that it signifies — what 
might the gentleman say ? 

Sneer. Why, he roundly asserts that you have not the 
slightest invention or original genius whatever; though 
you are the greatest traducer of all other authors living. 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very good ! 

Sneer. That, as to comedy, you have not one idea of 
your own, he believes, even in your commonplace-book, 
where stray jokes and pilfered witticisms are kept with as 
much method as the ledger of the Lost and Stolen Office. 

Sir F. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Very pleasant ! 

Sneer. Nay, that you are so unlucky as not to have the 
skill even to steal w T ith taste ; but that you glean from the 
refuse of obscure volumes, where more judicious plagia- 
rists have been before you ; so that the body of your work 
is a composition of dregs and sediments, — like a bad tav- 
ern's worst wine. 

Sir F Ha ! ha ! 

Sneer. In your more serious eiforts, he says, your bom- 
bast would be less intolerable, if the thoughts were ever 
suited to the expression ; but the homeliness of the senti- 
ment stares through the fantastic encumbrance of its fine 
language, like a clown in one of the new uniforms ! 



AND OEATOET. 389 

SirF. Ha! ha! 

Sneer. That your occasional tropes and flowers suit the 
general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would 
a ground of linsey-wolsey ; while your imitations of Shak- 
speare resemble the mimicry of Falstaff 's Page, and are 
about as near the standard of the original. 

SirF. Ha! 

Sneer. In short, that even the finest passages you steal 
are of no service to you ; for the poverty of your own lan- 
guage prevents their assimilating ; so that they lie on the 
surface like lumps of marl on a barren moor, encumbering 
what it is not in their power to fertilize ! 

Sir F. {After great agitation^ Now, another person 
would be vexed at this. 

Sneer. Oh ! but I wouldn't have told you, only to di- 
vert you. 

SirF. I know it — -I am diverted — Ha! ha! ha! — not 
the least invention ! — Ha ! ha ! ha ! very good ! very good ! 

Sneer. Yes — no genius ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Dan. A severe rogue! ha! ha! But you are quite 
right, Sir Fretful, never to read such nonsense. You are 
quite right. 

Sir F. To be sure — for, if there is any thing to one's 
praise, it is a foolish vanity to be gratified at it ; and if it 
is abuse, — why, one is always sure to hear of it from one 
good-natured friend or another ! 



CCIV.— FROM NOLENS YOLENS. 

Hall. 

[Sir Christopher is an elderly gentleman, who has a son at college, 
against whom he is much enraged for having fallen prematurely in love. 
Quiz, under the assumed name of " Blackletter," personates a professor 
of languages, having come for the purpose of pacifying Sir Christopher, 
and thus to obtain money for the son.] 

ENTER SIR CHRISTOPHER AND QUIZ. 

Sir Christopher. And so, friend Blackletter, you are; 
just come from college? 



390 



Quiz. Yes, sir. 

Sir Ch. Ah, Mr. Blackletter, I once loved the name of 
a college, until ray son proved so worthless. 

Quiz. In the name of all the literati, what do you 
mean ? You fond of books, and not bless your stars in 
giving you such a son ! 

Sir Ch. Ah, sir, he was once a youth of promise. — But 
do you know him ? 

Quiz. "What! Frederick Classic? — Ay, that I do — 
heaven be praised ! 

Sir Ch. I tell you, Mr. Blackletter, he is wonderfully 
changed. 

Quiz. And a lucky change for him. What, I suppose 
he was once a wild young fellow ? 

Sir Ch. No, sir, you don't understand me, or I don't 
you. I tell you, he neglects his studies, and is foolishly in 
love, for which I shall certainly cut him off with a shilling. 

Quiz. You surprise me, sir. I must beg leave to unde- 
ceive you : you are either out of your senses, or some 
wicked enemy of his has, undoubtedly, done him this in- 
jury. Why, sir, he is in love, I grant you, but it is only 
with his book. He hardly allows himself time to eat ; and 
as for sleep, he scarcely takes two hours in the twenty-four. 
[Aside.'] This is a thumper ; for the dog has not looked 
into a book these six months, to my certain knowledge. 

Sir Ch. I have received a letter from farmer Down- 
right this very day, who tells me he has received a letter 
from him, containing proposals for his daughter. 

Quiz. This is very strange. I left him at college as 
close to his books as — oh, oh — I believe I can solve this 
mystery, and much to your satisfaction, 

Sir Ch. I should be happy indeed if you could. 

Quiz. Oh, as plain as that two and three are five. 'Tis 
thus : an envious fellow, a rival of your son's — a fellow who 
has not as much sense in his whole corporation, as your son 
has in his little finger — yes, I heard this very fellow order- 
ing a messenger to farmer Downright, with a letter ; and 



AND OEATORY. 391 

this is, no doubt, the very one. Why, sir, your son will 
certainly surpass the Admirable Crichton. Sir Isaac New- 
ton will be a perfect automaton compared with him ; and 
the sages of antiquity, if resuscitated, would hang their 
heads in despair. 

Sir Ch. Is it possible that my son is now at college, 
making these great improvements ? 

Quiz. Ay, that he is, sir. 

Sir Ch. [Rubbing his hands.] Oh, the dear fellow, the 
dear fellow ! 

Quiz. Sir, you may turn to any part of Homer, and re- 
peat one line — he will take it up, and by dint of memory, 
continue repeating to the end of the book. 

Sir Ch. Well, well, well. I find I was doing him great 
injustice: however, I'll make him ample amends — oh, the 
dear fellow, the dear fellow, the dear fellow — [ With great 
joy] — he will be immortalized ; and so shall I, for if I had 
not cherished the boy's genius in embryo, he would never 
have soared above mediocrity. 

Quiz. True, sir. 

Sir Ch. I cannot but think what superlative pleasure I 
shall have, when my son has got his education. No other 
man's in England shall be comparative with it — of that I 
am positive. Why, sir, the moderns are such dull, plod- 
ding, senseless barbarians, that a man of learning is as hard 
to be found, as the unicorn.. 

Quiz. 'Tis much to be regretted, sir ; but such is the 
lamentable fact. 

Sir Ch. Even the shepherds, in days of yore, spoke 
their nether tongue in Latin ; and now, hie, haec, hoc, is as 
little understood as the language of the moon. 

Quiz. Your son, sir, will be a phenomenon, depend 
upon it. 

Sir Ch. So much the better, so much the better. I ex- 
pected soon to have been in the vocative, for, you know, 
you found me in the accusative case, and that's very near 
it— ha! ha! ha! 



392 

Quiz. You have reason to be merry, sir, I promise you. 

Sir Ch. I have, indeed. Well, I shall leave off interjec- 
tions, and promote an amicable conjunction with the dear 
fellow. Oh ! we shall never think of addressing each other 
in plain English — no, no, we will converse in the pure clas- 
sical language of the ancients. You remember the Ec- 
logues of Virgil, Mr. Blackletter ? 

Quiz. Oh, yes, sir, perfectly : have 'em at my fingers' 
ends. [Aside.'] Not a bit of a one did I ever hear of in 
my life. 

Sir Ch. How sweetly the first of them begins ! 

Quiz. Very sweetly, indeed, sir. [Aside.] I heartily 
wish he would change the subject. 

Sir Ch. " Tytere, tu patulae recubans : " faith, 'tis more 
musical than fifty hand-organs. 

Quiz. [Aside.] I had rather hear a jew's-harp. 

Sir Ch. Talking of music, though — the Greek is the 
language for that. 

Quiz. Truly is it. 

Sir Ch. Even the conjugations of the verbs far excel 
the finest sonata of Pleyel or Handel — for instance, "tupto, 
tupso, tetupha " — can any thing be more musical ? 

Quiz. Nothing — " stoop low, stoop so, stoop too far." 

Sir Ch. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " stoop too far ! " that's a good 
one. 

Quiz. [Aside.] Faith, I have stooped too far. All's 
over now, by Jupiter. 

Sir Ch. Ha ! ha ! ha ! a plaguy good pun, Mr. Black- 
letter. 

Quiz. Tolerable. [Aside.] I am well out df that 
scrape, however. 

Sir Ch. Pray, sir, which of the classics is your favorite ? 

Quiz. Why, sir, Mr. Frederick Classic, I think — he is 
so great a scholar — 

Sir Ch. Po, po, you don't understand me. I mean, 
which of the Latin classics do you admire most ? 

Quiz. [Aside.] Hang it ! what shall I say now. 



AND ORA.TO.RY. 393 

[Aloud.] The Latin classics ? Oh really, sir, I admire 
them all so much, it is difficult to say. 

Sir Ch. Virgil is my favorite. How very expressive 
is his description of the unconquerable passion of Queen 
Dido, where he says, " haret lateri lethalis arundo." Is 
not that very expressive ? 

Quiz. Very expressive, indeed, sir. [Aside.] I wish 
we were forty miles asunder. I shall never be able to 
hold out much longer, at this rate. 

Sir Ch. And Ovid is not without his charms. 

Quiz. He is not indeed, sir. 

Sir Ch. And what a dear, enchanting fellow, Horace is ! 

Quiz. Wonderfully so ! 

Sir Ch. Pray, what do you think of Xenophon ? 

Quiz. [Aside.] Who the plague is he, I wonder. 
[Aloud.] Xenophon! oh, I think he unquestionably wrote 
good Latin, sir. 

Sir Ch. Good Latin, man ! — he wrote Greek — good 
Greek, you meant. 

Quiz. True, sir, I did. Latin, indeed ! [In great con- 
fusion^] I meant Greek — did I say Latin? I really 
meant Greek. [Aside.] In fact, I don't know what I 
mean myself. 

Sir Ch. Oh ! Mr. Blackletter, I have been trying a 
long time to remember the name of one of Achilles's 
horses, but I can't for my life think of it — you doubtless 
can tell me. 

Quiz. O yes, his name was — but which of them do you 
mean ! — What was he called ? 

Sir Ch. What was he called ? Why, that's the very 
thing I wanted to know. The one I allude to was born 
of the Harpy Celamo. I can't for the blood of me, tell it. 

Quiz. [Aside.] Faith ! if I can either. [Aloicd.] 
Born of the Harpy — oh ! his name was — [striking his 
forehead^] Gracious ! I forget it now. His name was, — 
was, — was, — Pshaw, 'tis as familiar to me as my A, B, C. 

Sir Ch. Oh ! I remember — 'twas Xanthus, Xanthus — I 
17* 



394 wiley's elocdtion 

remember now — 'twas Xanthus — plague o' the name — 
that's it. 

Quiz. Egad ! so 'tis. " Thankus, Thankus "—that's it 
— strange I could not remember it. [Aside.] 'Twould 
have been stranger if I had. 

Sir Ch. You seem at times a little absent, Mr. Black- 
letter. 

Quiz. [Aside.] Absent ! I wish I wa3 absent alto- 
gether. 

/Sir Ch. We shall not disagree about learning, sir. I 
discover you are a man, not only of profound learning, but 
correct taste. 

Quiz. [Aside.] I am glad you have found that out, for 
I never should. I came here to quiz the old fellow, and 
he'll quiz me, I fear. [Aloud.] O, by-the-by, I have been 
so confused — I mean, so confounded : pshaw ! so much 
engrossed with the contemplation of the Latin classics, I 
had almost forgot to give you a letter from your son. 

Sir Ch. Bless me, sir ! why did you delay that pleas- 
ure so long ? 

Quiz. I beg pardon, sir, here 'tis. [Gives a letter.] 

Sir Ch. [Puts on his spectacles and reads.] " To Miss 
Clara." 

Quiz. No, no, no — that's not it — here 'tis. [Takes the 
letter, and gives him another.] 

Sir Ch. What, are you the bearer of love epistles, too, 
Mr. Blackletter ? 

Quiz. [Aside.] What a horrid blunder. [Aloud.] Oh, 
no, sir, that letter is from a female cousin at a boarding- 
school, to Miss Clara Upright, — no, Downright. That's 
the name. 

Sir Ch. Truly, she writes a good masculine fist. Well, 
let me see what my boy has to say. [Heads.] 

" Dear Father, — There is a famous Greek manuscript 
just come to light. I must have it. The price is about a 
thousand dollars. Send me the money by the bearer." Short 
and sweet. There's a letter for you, in the true Lacedae- 



AND OKATOBY. 395 

monian style — laconic. Well, the boy shall have it, were 
it ten times as much. I should like to see this Greek 
manuscript. Pray, sir, did you ever see it ? 

Quiz. I can't say I ever did, sir. [Aside.'] This is the 
only truth I have been able to edge in, yet. 

Sir Ch. I'll just send to my bankers for the money. 
In the mean time, we will adjourn to my library. I have 
been much puzzled with an obscure passage in Livy — we 
must lay our heads together for a solution. But I am sorry 
you are addicted to such absence of mind, at times. 

Quiz. "lis a misfortune, sir ; but I am addicted to a 
greater than that, at times. 

Sir Ch. Ah! what's that? 

Quiz. I am sometimes addicted to an absence of body. 

Sir Ch, As how? 

Quiz. Why thus, sir. [ Takes up his hat and stick, 
and walks off.] 

Sir Ch. Ha, ha, ha, — that's an absence of body, sure 
enough — an absence of body with a vengeance ! A very 
merry fellow this. He will be back for the money, I sup- 
pose, presently. He is, at all events, a very modest man, 
not fond of expressing his opinion — but that's a mark of 
merit. 



CCY.— GIL BLAS AND THE OLD ARCHBISHOP. 

La Sage. 

Archbishop. Well, young man, what is your business 
with me ? 

Gil Bias. I am the young man whom your nephew, 
Don Fernando, was pleased to mention to you. 

Arch. Oh ! you are the person, then, of whom he 
spoke so handsomely. I engage you in my service, and 
consider you a valuable acquisition. From the specimens 
he showed me of your powers, you must be pretty well 
acquainted with the Greek and Latin authors. It is very 
evident your education has not been neglected. I am sat- 
isfied with your handwriting, and still niore with your un- 



396 WILEY'S ELOCUTION 

derstanding. I thank my nephew, Don Fernando, for hav- 
ing given me such an able young man, whom I consider a 
rich acquisition. You transcribe so well, you must cer- 
tainly understand grammar. Tell me, ingenuously, my 
friend, did you find nothing that shocked you in writing 
over the homily I sent you on trial, — some neglect, per- 
haps, in style, or some improper term ? 

Gil B. Oh ! sir, I am not learned enough to make 
critical observations ; and if I was, I am persuaded the 
works of your grace would escape my censure. 

Arch. Young man, you are disposed to flatter ; but tell 
me, which parts of it did you think most strikingly beau- 
tiful. 

Gil B. If, where all was excellent, any parts were par- 
ticularly so, I should say they were the personification of 
hope, and the description of a good man's death. 

Arch. I see you have a delicate knowledge of the truly 
beautiful. This is what I call having taste and sentiment. 
Gil Bias, henceforth give thyself no uneasiness about thy 
fortune, I will take care of that. I love thee, and as a 
proof of my affection, I will make thee my confidant : yes, 
my child, thou shalt be the repository of my most secret 
thoughts. Listen with attention to what I am going to 
say. My chief pleasure consists in preaching, and the 
Lord gives a blessing to my homilies, but I confess my 
weakness. The honor of. being thought a perfect orator 
has charmed my imagination : my performances are thought 
equally nervous and delicate ; but I would of all things 
avoid the fault of good authors, who write too long. 
Wherefore, my dear Gil Bias, one thing that I exact of 
thy zeal, is, whenever thou shalt perceive my pen smack 
of old age, and my genius flag, don't fail to advertise me 
of it, for I don't trust to my own judgment, which may be 
seduced by self-love. That observation must proceed from 
a disinterested understanding, and I make choice of thine, 
which I know is good, and am resolved to stand by thy 
decision. 



AND OEATORY. 397 

Gil JB. Thank heaven, sir, that time is far off. Be- 
sides, a genius like that of your grace, will preserve its 
vigor much better than any other ; or, to speak more just- 
ly, will be always the same. I look upon you as another 
Cardinal Ximenes, whose superior genius, instead of being 
weakened, seemed to acquire new strength by age. 

Arch. No flattery, friend : I know I am liable to sink 
all at once. People at my age begin to feel infirmities, and 
the infirmities of the body often affect the understanding. 
I repeat it to thee again, Gil Bias, as soon as thou shalt 
judge mine in the least impaired, be sure to give me no- 
tice. And be not afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, 
for I shall receive thy advice as a mark of thy affection. 

Gil JB. Your grace may always depend upon my fidelity. 

Arch. I know thy sincerity, Gil Bias ; and now tell me 
plainly, hast thou not heard the people make some remarks 
upon my late homilies ? 

Gil JB. Your homilies have always been admired, but 
it seems to me that the last did not appear to have had so 
powerful an effect upon the audience as former ones. 

Arch. How, sir, has it met with any Aristarchus ? 

Gil JB. No, sir, by no means, such works as yours are 
not to be criticised : everybody is charmed with them. 
Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon 
me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you 
that your last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether 
the energy of your other performances. Did you not think 
so, sir, yourself? 

Arch. So, then, Gil Bias, this piece is not to your taste ? 

Gil JB. I don't say so, sir : I think it excellent, although 
a little inferior to your other works. 

Arch. I understand you : you think I flag, don't you ? 
Come, be plain : you believe it is time for me to think of 
retiring. 

Gil JB. I should not have been so bold as to speak so 
freely, if your grace had not commanded me : I do no 



398 wiley's elocution 

more, therefore, than obey you ; and I most humbly beg 
that you will not be offended at my freedom. 

Arch. God forbid ! God forbid that I should find 
fault with it. I don't at all take it ill that you should speak 
your sentiments, it is your sentiment itself, only, that I 
find bad. I have been most egregiously deceived in your 
narrow understanding. 

Gil JS. Your grace will pardon me for obeying — 
Arch. Say no more, my child, you are yet too raw to 
make proper distinctions. Be it known to you, I never 
composed a better homily than that which you disapprove ; 
for, my genius, thank Heaven, hath, as yet, lost nothing 
of its vigor : henceforth I will make a better choice of a 
confidant. Go ! go, Mr. Gil Bias, and tell my treasurer to 
give you a hundred ducats, and may Heaven conduct you 
with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Bias ! I wish you all man- 
ner of prosperity, with a little more taste. 



CCVL— CONVERSATIONS AFTER MARRIAGE. 

From " The School for Scandal." 

R, B. Sheridan. 
PART FIRST. 

Enter Lady Teazle and Sir Peter. 

Sir Peter. Lady Teazle, Lady Teazle, I'll not bear it ! 

Lady Teazle. Sir Peter, Sir Peter, you may bear it or 
not, as you please ; but I ought to have my own way in 
every thing ; and what's more, I will too. "What ! though 
I was educated in the country, I know very well that 
women of fashion in London are accountable to nobody 
after they are married. 

Sir JP. Very well, ma'am, very well — so a husband is 
to have no influence, no authority ? 

Lady T. Authority ! No, to be sure : — if you wanted 
authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not 
married me : I am sure you were old enough. 



AND ORATORY. 399 

Sir P. Old enough.! — ay — there it is. 'Well, well, 
Lady Teazle, though my life may be made unhappy by 
your temper, I'll not be ruined by your extravagance. 

Lady T. My extravagance ! I'm sure I'm not more 
extravagant than a woman ought to be. 

Sir P. No, no, madam, you shall throw away no more 
sums on such unmeaning luxury. 'Slife ! to spend as much 
to furnish your dressing-room with flowers in winter as 
would suffice to turn the Pantheon into a green-house. 

Lady T. Lord, Sir Peter, am I to blame, because flow- 
ers are dear in cold weather ? You should find fault with 
the climate, and not with me. For my part, I'm sure, I 
wish it was spring all the year round, and that roses grew 
under our feet ! 

Sir P. Zounds ! madam — if you had been born to this, 
I shouldn't wonder at your talking thus ; but you forget 
what your situation was when I married you. 

Lady T. No, no, I don't : 'twas a very disagreeable 
one, or I should never have married you. 

Sir P. Yes, yes, madam, you were then in somewhat a 
humbler style, — the daughter of a plain country squire. 
Recollect, Lady Teazle, when I saw you first sitting at 
your tambor, in a pretty figured linen gown, with a bunch 
of keys at your side : your hair combed smooth over a roll, 
and your apartment hung round with fruits in worsted of 
your own working. 

Lady T. Oh yes ! I remember it very well, and a curi- 
ous life 1 led, — my daily occupation to inspect the dairy, 
superintend the poultry, make extracts from the family 
receipt-book, and comb my aunt Deborah's lap dog. 

Sir P. Yes, yes, ma'am, 'twas so indeed. 

Lady T. And then, you know, my evening amuse- 
ments ; — to draw patterns for ruffles, which I had not ma- 
terials to make up : to play Pope Joan with the curate : to 
read a novel to my aunt ; or to be stuck down to an old 
spinet to strum my father to sleep after a fox-chase. 
[Crosses, L.~\ 



400 



Sir P. I am glad you have so good a memory. Yes, 
madam, these were the recreations I took you from ; but 
now you must have your coach — vis-a-vis — and three pow- 
dered footmen before your chair ; and, in the summer, a 
pair of white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens. 
No recollection, I suppose, when you were content to ride 
double, behind the butler, on a docked coach-horse. 

Lady T. No — I never did that : I deny the butler and 
the coach-horse. 

Sir P. This, madam, was your situation ; and what 
have I done for you ? I have made you a woman of fash- 
ion, of fortune, of rank : in short, I have made you my 
wife. 

Lady T. Well, then ; and there is but one thing more 
you can make me add to the obligation, and that is — 

Sir P. My widow, I suppose ? 

Lady T. Hem! hem! 

Sir P. I thank you, madam; but don't flatter yourself; 
for though your ill conduct may disturb my peace of mind, 
it shall never break my heart, I promise you : however, I 
am equally obliged to you for the hint. [Crosses, LP[ 

Lady T. Then why will you endeavor to make your- 
self so disagreeable to me, and thwart me in every little 
elegant expense ? 

Sir P. 'Slife, madam, I say, had you any of these little 
elegant expenses when you married me ? 

Lady T. Lud, Sir Peter! would you have me.be out 
of the fashion ? 

Sir P. The fashion, indeed ! What had you to do 
with the fashion before you married me ? 

Lady T. For my part, I should think you would like 
to have your wife thought a woman of taste. 

Sir P. Ay: there again — taste. Zounds! madam, you 
had no taste when you married me ! 

Lady T. That's very true indeed, Sir Peter ; and after 
having married you, I should never pretend to taste again, 
I allow. But now, Sir Peter, since we have finished our 



_1"D OBATOEY. 401 

daily jangle, I presume I may go to my engagement at 
1 V SeeerwelPs. 

: P. Ay, there's another precious circumstance — a 
charming set of acquaintance yon have made there. 

L:i~_ T. Nay, Sii Petej", they are all people of rank 
and fortune, and remarkably tenacious of reputation. 

Sir P. Yrs. egad, they are tenacious of reputation with 
a yengeance ; for they don't choose anybody should have 
:'. ^racter but themselves ! — Such a crew! Ah! many a 
wretch has rid on a hurdle who has done less mischief than 
these utterers of f: i ged E ales, coiners of scandal, and clip- 
pers of reputation. 

Lady T. What! would you restrain the freedom of 

Sir P. Ah ! they have made you just as bad as any one 
:: the b : aety. 

Laity T. Why, I believe I do bear a part with a toler- 
: ':'. :- l:: ir 

P. Grace, indeed ! 

Lack) P. But I vow I bear no malice against the people 
I abuse, When I say an ill-natured thing, 'tis out of pure 
good-humor ; and I take it for granted, they deal exactly 
in the same manner with me. But, Sir Peter, you know 
; : i \ i : mi a e i to come to Lady Sneerwell's too. 

Si ■ P Weil, well, I'll call in just to look after my own 
:_v. ::er, 

Lad T. Tien indeed you must make haste after me, 
or you'll be too late. So, good-by to yon. [Exit Lady 

8 P. S : — I have gained much by my intended ex- 
| : stnlation : yet, with what a charming air she contradicts 
every thing I s»y a and how pleasingly she shows her con- 
tempt for my authority ! Well, though I can't make her 
love me, there is great satisfaction in quarreling with her ; 
and I think she never appears to such advantage, as when 
she is loing everything in her power to plague me. 



402 



CCVII.— CONVERSATIONS AFTER MARRIAGE. 
PAET SECOND. 

Lady Teazle. Lud ! Sir Peter, I hope you haven't been 
quarreling with Maria ? It is not using me well to he ill- 
humored when I am not by. 

Sir Peter. Ah ! Lady Teazle, you might have the power 
to make me good-humored at all times. 

Lady T. I am sure I wish I had ; for I want you to be 
in a charming sweet temper at this moment. Do be good- 
humored, now, and let me have two hundred pounds, will 
you? 

Sir P. Two hundred pounds ! What, ain't I to be in a 
good-humor without paying for it? But speak to me thus, 
and i' faith there's nothing I could refuse you. You shall 
have it [gives her notes] ; but seal me a bond of repayment. 

Lady T. Oh no : there — my note of hand will do as well. 

[ Offering her hand. 

Sir P. And you shall no longer reproach me with not 
giving you an independent settlement. I mean shortly to 
surprise you : — but shall we always live thus, hey ? 

Lady T. If you please. I'm sure I don't care how soon 
we leave off quarreling, provided you'll own you were tired 
first. 

Sir P. Well : then let our future contest be, who shall 
be most obliging. 

Lady T. I assure you, Sir Peter, good-nature becomes 
you : you look now as you did before we were married, 
when you used to walk with me under the elms, and tell 
me stories of what a gallant you were in your youth, and 
chuck me . under the chin, you would ; and ask me if I 
thought I could love an old fellow, who would deny me 
nothing — didn't you ? 

Sir P. Yes, yes, and you were kind and attentive — 

Lady T. Ay, so I was, and would always take your 
part when my acquaintance used to abuse you, and turn 
you into ridicule. 



AND OEATOEY. 403 

Sir P. Indeed! 

Lady T. Ay ; and when my cousin Sophy has called 
you a stiff, peevish old bachelor, and laughed at me for 
thinking of marrying one who might be my father, I have 
always defended you, and said, I didn't think you so ugly 
by any means. 

Sir P. Thank you. 

Lady T. And I dared say you'd make a very good sort 
of a husband. 

Sir P. And you prophesied right ; and we shall now be 
the happiest couple — 

Lady T. And never differ again ? 

Sir P. No, never ! — though at the same time, indeed, 
my dear Lady Teazle, you must watch your temper very 
seriously ; for in all our little quarrels, my dear, if you re- 
collect, my love, you always begin first. 

Lady T. I beg your pardon, my dear Sir Peter ; indeed, 
you always gave the provocation. 

Sir P. Now see, my angel ! take care — contradicting 
isn't the way to keep friends. 

Lady T. Then don't you begin it, my love. 

Sir P. There, now ! you — you are going on. You 
don't perceive, my life, that you are just doing the very 
thing which you know always makes me angry. 

Lady T. Nay, you know if you will be angry without 
any reason, my dear — 

Sir P. There ! now you want to quarrel again. 

Lady T. No, I am sure I don't ; but if you will be so 
peevish — 

Sir P. There now ! who begins first ? 

Lady T. Why you, to be sure. I said nothing — but 
there's no bearing your temper. 

Sir P. No, no, madam : the fault's in your own temper. 

Lady T. Ay, you are just what my cousin Sophy said 
you would be. 

Sir P. Your cousin Sophy is a forward, impertinent 
gipsy. 



404: wiley's elocution 

Lady T. You are a great bear, I'm sure, to abuse my 
relations. 

Sir P. Now may all the plagues of marriage be doubled 
on me, if ever I try to be friends with you any more. 

Lady T. So much the better. 

Sir P. No, no, madam : 'tis evident you never cared a 
pin for me, and I was a madman to marry you — a pert, 
rural coquette, that had refused half the honest squires in 
the neighborhood. 

Lady T. t And I am sure I was a fool to marry you — an 
old dangling bachelor, who was single at fifty, only because 
he never could meet with any one who would have him. 

[ Crosses L. 

Sir P. Ay, ay, madam ; but you were pleased enough 
to listen to me: you never had such an offer before. 

I Lady T. No ! didn't I refuse Sir Tivy Terrier, who 

everybody said would have been a better match ? for his 
estate is just as good as yours, and he has broke his neck 
since we have been married. [ Crosses B. 

-Sir P. I have done with you, madam ! You are an un- 
feeling, ungrateful — but there's an end of every thing. I 
believe you capable of every thing that is bad.^ Yes, 
madam, I now believe the reports relative to you and 
Charles, madam. Yes, madam, you and Charles are — not 
without grounds. 

Lady T. Take care, Sir Peter ! you had better not in- 
sinuate any such thing ! I'll not be suspected without 
cause, I promise you. 

Sir P. Yery well, madam! very well! A separate 
maintenance as soon as you please ! Yes, madam, or a 
divorce ! — I'll make an example of myself for the benefit 
. of all old bachelors. 

Lady T. Agreed ! agreed ! And now, my dear Sir 
Peter, we are of a mind once more, we may be the happiest 
couple — and never differ again, you know — ha ! ha ! ha ! 
Well, you are going to be in a passion, I see, and I shall 
only interrupt you ; so, bye-bye. [fflcit Lady Teazle. 



AND ORATORY. 405 

Sir P. Plagues and tortures ! Can't I make her angry 
either ? Oh, I am the most miserable fellow ! But I'll not 
bear her presuming to keep her temper : no ! she may 
break my heart, but she sha'n't keep her temper. \Mdt. 



OCIX.— FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 

Characters— -king james, roderic dhu. 



Scott. 



Scene. — A rock, with a watch-fire burning near it. A Scotch Highlander, 
Roderic Dhu, wrapped in his tartan, is discovered sleeping by it. 

[Enter King James in a warrior's garb.~\ 

Roderic. [ Grasping his sword and springing on his feet.'] Thy name 
and purpose, Saxon ? — Stand ! 

James. A stranger. 

Hod. What dost thou require ? 

James. Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
My life's beset, my path is lost, 
The gale has chilled my limbs with frost. 

Rod. Art thou a friend to Roderic ? 

James. No. 

Rod. Thou dost not call thyself his foe ? 

James. I dare, to him and all the band 
He brings to aid his murderous hand. 

Rod. Bold words ! But, though the beast of game 
The privilege of chase may claim : 
Though space and law the stag we lend, 
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 
Who ever cared where, how, or when 
The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? 
Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie, 
Who say thou comest a secret spy. 

James. They do, by Heaven ! Come Roderic Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two, 
And, let me but till morning rest, 
I'll write the falsehood on their crest. 

Rod. If by the blaze I mark aright, 
Thou bearest the belt and spur of knight. 

James. Then by these tokens mayst thou knoxy 
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe. 

Rod. Enough, enough : sit down and share 
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare. 



406 



{They sit down and eat together, and in a few minutes the soldier con- 
tinues the conversation.] 

Rod. Stranger, I am to Roderic Dhu, 
A clansman born, a kinsman true : 
Each word against his honor spoke, 
Demands of me avenging stroke. 
It rests with me to wind my horn, 
Thou art with numbers overborne : 
It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand ; 
But not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 
Will I depart from honor's laws. 
To assail a wearied man were shame, 
And Stranger is a holy name. 
Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 
In vain he never must require. 
Myself will guide thee on the way, 
Through watch and ward till break of day, 
As far as Coilantogle ford ; 
From thence thy warrant is thy sword. 

James. I take thy courtesy, by Heaven, 
As freely as 'tis nobly given. 

Rod. Why seek these wilds, traversed by few, 
Without a pass from Roderic Dhu ? 

James. Brave man, my pass, in danger tried, 
Hangs in my belt, and by my side. 
Yet sooth to tell, though naught I dread, 
I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
When here but three 6a,ys since I came, 
Bewildered in pursuit of game 
All seemed as peaceful and as still, 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill. 
Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war ; 
Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 
Though deep, perchance, the villain lied. 

Rod. Yet, why a second venture try? 

James. A warrior, thou, and ask me why ? 
Perhaps I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day : 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight's free footsteps far and wide : 
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed, 



AND ORATORY. 407 



The merry glance of mountain maid : 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone. 

Rod. Thy secret keep : I urge thee not, 
Yet, ere again you sought this spot, 
Say, heard you not of lowland war, - 
Against Clan Alpine raised by Mar ? 

James. No, by my word ; of bands prepared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the Mountaineer, 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung. 

Rod. Free be they flung ! for we are loath 
Their silken folds should feed the moth. 
Free be they flung ! as free shall wave 
Clan Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain game, 
Whence the bold boast, by which we know 
Vich Alpine's vowed and mortal foe ? 

James. Warrior, but yester morn, I knew 
Naught of thy chieftain, Roderic Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed, desperate man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who in the regent's court and sight, 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight. 
Yet this alone should from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart. 

Rod. [Frowning, and both rising hastily.'] 
And heardst thou why he drew his blade ? 
Heardst thou, that shameful word, and blow 
Brought Roderic's vengeance on his foe ? 
What recked the chieftain, if he stood 
On highland heath or Holy Rood ? 
He rights such wrong where it is given, 
Though it were in the court of heaven. 

James. Still it was outrage : yet, 'tis true, 
Not then claimed sovereignty his due : 
The young king, mewed in Stirling tower, 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then thy chieftain's robber life, 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 



I 



408 wiley's elocution 

Wrenching from ruined lowland swain 
His flocks and harvest reared in vain — 
Methinks a soul like thine, should scorn 
The spoils from such foul conflict borne. 

Rod. Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye, 
O'er waving fields and pastures green, 
With gentle slopes, and groves between : 
These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael. 
The Saxons came with iron hand, 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ? see rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread, 
For fattened steer, or household bread : 
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 
And well the mountain might reply : 
" To you, as to your sires of yore, 
Belong the target and claymore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Your own good blades must do the rest." 
Pent in this fortress of the north, 
Thinkst thou we will not sally forth 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the prey ? 
Ay, by my soul ! while on yon plain 
The Saxon rears one shock of grain : 
While of ten thousand herds, there strays 
But one along yon river's maze — 
The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 
Where live the mountain chiefs, who hold 
That plundering lowland field and fold, 
Is aught but retribution due ? — 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderic Dhu. 

James. And if I sought, 

Thinks thou no other could be brought ? 
What deem ye, of my path waylaid, 
My life given o'er to ambuscade ? 

Rod. As a reward to rashness due : 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, 
Free hadst thou been to come and go : 



AND ORATORY. 409 

But secret path marks secret foe. 

James. Well, let it pass ; nor will I now- 
Fresh cause of enmity avow, 
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
Enough, I am by promise tied 
To match me with this man of pride. 
Twice have I sought Clan Alpine's glen 
In peace ; but, when I come again, 
I come with banner, brand, and bow, 
As leader seeks his mortal- foe. 
For love-lorn swain in lady's bower, 
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel chieftain and his band. 

Rod. Have then thy wish. [He whistles, and soldiers rush in on all 
sides.] How sayest thou now? 
These are Clan Alpine's warriors true ; 

And, Saxon, I am Roderic Dhu. [King James starts back a little, then 
draws his sword and places his back against the rock.~\ 

James. Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
From its firm base, as soon as I. [Eoderic waves his hand, and the soldiers 

Rod. Fear not, nay, that I need not say, [retire. 

But doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest, I pledged my word 
As far as Coilantogle ford. 
So move we on : I only meant 
To show the reed on which you leant, 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Eoderic Dhu. 
Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich Alpine shall discharge his trust. 
This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebellious clan, 
Will lead thee safe through watch and ward 
Far past Clan Alpine's outmost guard ; 
Then man to man, and steel to steel, 
A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 

James. I ne'er delayed 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death : 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for life preserved, 
A better meed have well deserved : 
18 



410 



Can naught but blood our feud atone ? 
Are there no means ? 

Rod. No, stranger, none ! 

James. Nay, first to James at Stirling go. 
When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the king shall not agi-ee 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath, and word, 
That to thy native holds restored, 
With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land. 

Rod. Thy rash presumption now shall rue 
The homage named to Roderic Dhu. 
He yields not, he, to man nor fate — 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate ! 
My clansmen's wrongs demand revenge 
Not yet prepared ! by Heaven ! I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight, 
Who ill deserved my courteous care, 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair. [Pointing to a braid on James 1 breast.] 

James. I thank thee, Roderic, for the word : 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword. 
I had it from a frantic maid, 
By thee dishonored and betrayed ; 
And I have sworn the braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone ! 
I heed not that my strength is worn — 
Thy word's restor'd ; and if thou wilt, 
We try this quarrel, hilt to hilt. 



CCX.— NOTHING IN IT. 

Chakles Matthews. 

Leech. But you don't laugh, Coldstream ! Come, man, 
be amused, for once in your life ! — you don't laugh. 

Sir Charles. O, yes, I do. You mistake: I laughed 
twice, distinctly, — only, the fact is, I'm bored to death ! 

Leech. Bored ? "What ! after such a feast as that you 



AND ORATORY. 41 L 

have given us ? Look at me, — I'm inspired ! I'm a King 
at this moment, and all the world is at my feet ! 

Sir G. My dear Leech, you began life late. You are a 
young fellow, — forty-five, — and have the world yet before 
you. I started at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the 
whole round of pleasure before I was thirty. I tried every 
thing, heard every thing, done every thing, know every 
thing ; and here I am, a man of thirty-three, literally used 
up — completely blase ! 

Leech. Nonsense, man ! — used up, indeed ! — with your 
wealth, with your twenty estates in the sunniest spots in 
England, — not to mention that Utopia, within four walls, 
in the Hue de Provence, in Paris. 

Sir G. I am dead with ennui ! 

Leech. Ennui ! poor Crcesus ! 

Sir G Croesus ! — no, I'm no Croesus ! My father, — 
you've seen his portrait, good old fellow ! — he certainly did 
leave me a little matter of twelve thousand pounds a year ; 
but, after all — 

Leech. O, come ! — 

Sir C. O, I don't complain of it. 

Leech. I should think not. 

Sir G. O, no : there are some people who can manage 
to do on less, — on credit. 

Leech. I know several. My dear Coldstream, you 
should try change of scene. 

Sir G I have tried it ; — what's the use ? 

Leech. But I'd gallop all over Europe. 

Sir G. I have ; — there's nothing in it. 

Leech. Nothing in all Europe ? 

Sir G. Nothing! — O, dear, yes! I remember, at one 
time, I did, somehow, go about a good deal. 

Leech. You should go to Switzerland. 

Sir C. I have been. Nothing there, — people say so 
much about every thing. There certainly were a few 
glaciers, some monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and 
bad wine, and Mont Blanc : yes, and there was ice on the 



412 



top, too ; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's, — less trouble, 
and more in it. 

Leech. Then, if Switzerland wouldn't do, I'd try Italy. 

Sir C. My dear Leech, I've tried it over and over 
again, — and what then ? 

Leech. Did not Rome inspire you ? 

/Sir C. O, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole ! 
People talk so much about these things. There's the 
Coloseum now; — round, very round, — a goodish ruin 
enough ; but I was diappointed with it. Capitol, — tolera- 
ble high ; and St. Peter's, — marble, and mosaics, and foun- 
tains, — dome certainly not badly scooped ; but there was 
nothing in it. 

• Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have 
nothing like St. Peter's in London. 

Sir C. No, because we don't want it ; but, if we wanted 
such a thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gen- 
tlemen meet, pass resolutions, institute, and in twelve 
months it would be run up : nay, if that were all, we'd buy 
St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over. 

Leech. Ha, ha ! well said, — you're quite right. What 
say you to beautiful Naples ? 

Sir C. Not bad, — excellent watermelons, and goodish 
opera : they took me up Vesuvius, — a horrid bore ! It 
smoked a good deal, certainly, but altogether a wretched 
mountain ; — saw the crater — looked down, but there was 
nothing in it. 

Leech. But the bay ? ' 

Sir C. Inferior to Dublin ! 

Leech. The Campagna ? 

Sir C. A swamp ! 

Leech. Greece ? 

Sir C. A morass ! 

Leech. Athens? 

Sir C. A bad Edinburgh! 

Leech. Egypt? 

Sir C. A desert ! 



AND ORATORY. 413 

Leech. The Pyramids ? 

Sir C. Humbugs ! — nothing in any of them ! You 
bore me. Is it possible that you cannot invent something 
that would make my blood boil in my veins, — my hair 
stand on end, — my heart beat, — my pulse rise; — that 
would produce an excitement — an emotion — a sensation — a 
palpitation — but, no ! — 

Leech. I've an idea ! 

Sir C. You? What is it? 

Leech. Marry! 

Sir C. Hum ! — well, not bad. There's novelty about 
the notion : it never did strike me to — O, but, no : I should 
be bored with the exertion of choosing. If a wife, now, 
could be had like a dinner — for ordering. 

Leech. She can, by you. Take the first woman that 
comes : on my life, she'll not refuse twelve thousand 
pounds a year. 

Sir O. Come, I don't dislike the project : I almost feel 
something like a sensation coming. I haven't felt so ex- 
cited for some time : it's a novel enjoyment — a surprise. 

I'll try it. 

♦ 

CCXI— THE WEATHERCOCK. 

J. T. Allingham. 

Old Ficlde. What reputation, what honor, what profit 
can accrue to you from such conduct as yours ? One mo- 
ment you tell me you are going to become the greatest 
musician in the world, and straight you fill my house with 
fiddlers. 

Tristram Fickle. I am clear out of that scrape #ow, 
sir. 

Old F. Then, from a fiddler, you are metamorphosed 
into a philosopher ; and, for the noise of drums, trumpets 
and hautboys, you substitute a vile jargon, more unintelli- 
gible than was ever heard at the tower of Babe*I. 

Tri. You are right, sir. I have found out that philoso- 
phy is folly : so I have cut the philosophers of all sects, 



414 



from Plato and Aristotle down to the puzzlers of modern 
date. 

Old F. How much had I to pay the cooper, the other 
day, for barrelling you up in a large tub, when you resolved 
to live like Diogenes ? 

Tri. You should not have paid him any thing, sir ; for 
the tub would not hold. You see the contents are run out. 

Old F. No jesting, sir ! this is no laughing matter. 
Your follies have tired me out. I verily believe you have 
taken the whole round of arts and sciences in a month, 
and have been of fifty different minds in half an hour. 

Tri. And, by that, shown the versatility of my genius. 

Old F. Don't tell me of versatility, sir ! Let me see 
a little steadiness. You have never yet been constant to 
any thing but extravagance. 

Tri. Yes, sir, — one thing more. 

Old F. What is that, sir ? 

Tri. Affection for you. However my head may have 
wandered, my heart has always been constantly attached 
to the kindest of parents ; and, from this moment, I am 
resolved to lay my follies aside, and pursue that line of 
conduct which will be most pleasing to the best of fathers 
and of friends. 

Old F. Well said, my boy, — well said ! You make me 
happy, indeed ! [Patting him on the shoidder.] Now, 
then, my dear Tristram, let me know what you really mean 
to do. 

Tri. To study the law — 

OldF. The law! 

Jri. I am most resolutely bent on following that pro- 
fession. 

OldF. No! 

Tri. Absolutely and irrevocably fixed. 

Old F. Better and better! I am overjoyed. Why, 
'tis the very thing I wished. Now I am happy ! [Tris- 
tram makes gestures as if speaking \] See how his mind 
is engaged ! 



AND OEATORY. 415 

Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury — 

Old F Why, Tristram ! 

Tri. This is a cause — 

Old F Q, my dear boy ! I forgive you all your tricks. 
I see something about you now that I can depend on. 
[Tristram continues making gestures.] 

Tri. I am for the plaintiff in this cause — 

Old F Bravo! bravo! Excellent boy! I'll go and 
order your books, directly ! 

Tri. 'Tis done, sir. 

Old F. What, already ! 

Tri. I ordered twelve square feet of books, when I 
first thought of embracing the arduous profession of the 
law. 

Old F. W'hat, do you mean to read by the foot ? 

Tri. By the foot, sir : that is the only way to become 
a solid lawyer. 

Old F. Twelve square feet of learning ! Well — 

Tri. I have likewise sent for a barber — 

Old F. A barber ! What, is he to teach you to shave 
close ? 

Tri. He is to shave one-half of my head, sir. 

Old F. You will excuse me if I cannot perfectly un- 
derstand what that has to do with the study of the law. 

Tri. Did you never hear of Demosthenes, sir, the 
Athenian orator ? He had half his head shaved, and 
locked himself up in a coal-cellar. " 

Old F. Ah, he was perfectly right to lock himself up, 
after having undergone such an operation as that. He cer- 
tainly would have made rather an odd figure abroad. 

Tri. I think I see him now, awaking the dormant 
patriotism of his countrymen, — lightning in his eye, and 
thunder in his voice : he pours forth a torrent of eloquence, 
resistless in its force : the throne of Philip trembles while 
he speaks : he denounces, and indignation fills the bosom 
of his hearers : he exposes the impending danger, and 
every one sees impending ruin : he threatens the tyrant, — 



416 



they grasp their swords : he calls for vengeance, — their 
thirsty weapons glitter in the air, and thousands reverber- 
ate the cry ! One soul animates a nation, and that soul is 
the soul of the orator ! 

Old F. O, what a figure he will make on the King's 
Bench ! But, come, I will tell you now what my plan is, 
and then you will see how happily this determination of 
yours will further it. You have [Tristram makes extrava- 
gant gestures, as if speaking'] often heard me speak of my 
friend Briefwit, the barrister — 

Tri. Who is against me in this cause — 

Old F. He is a most learned lawyer — 

Tri. But, as I have justice on my side — 

Old F. Zounds ! he doesn't hear a word I say ! Why, 
Tristram ! 

Tri. I beg your pardon, sir: I was prosecuting my 
studies. 

Old F Now, attend— 

Tri. As my learned friend observes — Go on, sir : I 
am all attention. 

Old F. Well, my friend the counsellor — 

Tri. Say learned friend, if you please, sir. We gen- 
tlemen of the law always — 

Old F. Well, well, — my learned friend — 

Tri. A black patch ! 

Old F. Will you listen, and be silent ? 

Tri. I am as mute as a judge. 

Old F. My friend, I say, has a ward who is very hand- 
some, and who has a very handsome fortune. She would 
make you a charming wife, 

Tri. This is an action — 

Old F. Now, I have hitherto been afraid to introduce 
you to my friend, the barrister, because I thought your 
lightness and his gravity — 

Tri. Might be plaintiff and defendant. 

Old F. But now you are grown serious and steady, and 
have resolved to pursue his profession, I will shortly bring 



AND ORATORY. 417 

you together: you will obtain his good opinion, and all 
the rest follows, of course. 

Tri. A verdict in my favor. 

Old F. You marry and sit down, happy for life. 

Tri. In the King's Bench. 

Old F. Bravo ! Ha, ha, ha ! But now run to your 
study — run to your study, my dear Tristram, and I'll go 
and call upon the counsellor. 

Tri. I remove by habeas corpus. 

Old F. Pray have the goodness to make haste, then. 
[Hurrying him off.] 

Tri. Gentlemen of the Jury, this is a cause — [Fxil.~\ 

Old F. The inimitable boy ! I am now the happiest 
father living. What genius he has ! He'll be lord chan- 
cellor, one day or other, I dare be sworn. I am sure he 
has talents ! O, how I long to see him at the bar ! 



CCXIL— FROM BRUTUS. 

Payne. 

Characters. — Brutus, Centurion, Valerius, Titus, Collatinus, Lietors, 
Guards, People. 

Scenf. 1.— A Street in Rome. 

[Enter Bridies and Collatinus, as consuls, followed by lietors, guards, and 
people.] 

Brutus. You judge me rightly, friends. The purpled robe 
The curule chair, the lictor's keen-edged axe, 
Rejoice not Brutus — 'tis his country's freedom : 
When once that freedom shall be firmly rooted, 
Then, with redoubled pleasure, will your consul 
Exchange the splendid miseries of power, 
For the calm comforts of a happy home. 

[Enter Centurion.'] 

Centurion. Health to Brutus ! 
Shame and confusion to the foes of Rome ! 

Bru. Now, without preface, soldier, to your business. 

Cent. As I kept watch at the Quirinal gate, 
Ere break of day, an armed company 
Burst on a sudden through the barrier guard, 

18* 



418 



Pushing their course for Ardea. Straight alarmed, 
I wheeled my cohort round, and charged them home : 
Sharp was the conflict for a while, and doubtful, 
Till, on the seizure of Tarquinia's person, 
A young patrician 

Bru. Hah ! patrician ? 

Cent. Such 
His dress bespoke him, though to me unknown. 

Bru. Proceed ! — what more ? 

Cent. The lady being taken, 
This youth, the life and leader of the band, 
His sword high waving in the act to strike, 
Dropt his uplifted weapon, and at once 
Yielded himself my prisoner. Oh, Valerius, 
What have I said, that thus the consul changes ? 

Bru. Why do you pause ? Go on. 

Cent. Their leader seized, 
The rest surrendered. Him, a settled gloom 
Possesses wholly ; nor, as I believe, 
Hath a word passed his lips, to all my questions 
Still obstinately shut. 

Bru. Set him before us. [Exit Centurion.'] 

Valerius. Oh, my brave friend, horror invades my heart. 

Bru. Silence ! Be calm. 

Vol. I know thy soul, 
A compound of all excellence, and pray 
The mighty gods to put thee to no trial 
Beyond a mortal bearing. 

Bru. No, they will not — 
Nay, be secure, they cannot. Pray thee, friend, 
Look out, and if the worst that can befall me 
Be verified, turn back. 
Thou canst excuse this weakness, 

Being thyself a father. [ Valerius returns.] 

Since it must be so, 

Do your great pleasure, gods ! Now, now it comes ! 
[Enter Titus, guarded.'] 

Titus. My father, — give me present death, ye powers ! 

Cent. What have I done ! art thou the son of Brutus ? 

Tit. No — Brutus scorns to father such a son ! 
Oh, venerable judge, wilt thou not speak ? 
Turn not away : hither direct thine eyes, 
And look upon this sorrow-stricken form. 



AND ORATOEY. 419 

Then to thine own great heart remit my plea, 
And doom as nature dictates. 

Vol. Peace, you'll anger him — 
Be silent and await ! Oh, suffering mercy, 
Plead in a father's heart, and speak for nature ! 

Bru. Come hither, Collatinus. The deep wound 
You suffered in the loss of your Lucretia, 
Demanded more than fortitude to bear : 
I saw your agony — I felt your woe — 

Collatinus. You more than felt it : you revenged it, too. 

Bru. But ah, my brother consul, your Lucretia 
Fell nobly, as a Roman spirit should. 
She fell a model of transcendant virtue. 

Col. My mind misgives. What dost thou aim at, Brutus ? 

Bru. [Almost overpowered.] That youth, my Titus, was my age's 

hope : 
I loved him more than language can express : 
I thought him born to dignify the world. 

Col. My heart bleeds for you — he may yet be saved — 

Bru. \Firmly.~\ Consul, for Pome I live, not for myself. 
I dare not trust my firmness in this crisis, 
Warring against every thing my soul holds dear ! 
Therefore return without me to the Senate — 
I ought not now to take a seat among them — 
Haply my presence might restrain their justice. 
Look that these traitors meet their trial straight, 
And then despatch a messenger to tell me 
How the wise fathers have disposed of go ! 

Tit. A word for pity's sake. Before thy feet, 
Humbled in soul, thy son and prisoner kneels. 
Love is my plea : a father is my judge : 
Nature my advocate ! I can no more : 
If these will not appease a parent's heart, 
Strike through them all, and lodge thy vengeance here ! 

Bru. Break off ! I will not, cannot hear thee further. 
The affliction nature hath imposed on Brutus, 
Brutus will suffer as he may. 
Lictors, secure your prisoner. Point your axes 
To the Senate. On ! 

[Exeunt all but Brutus. After a pause of restless agony,~\ 
Like a lost, guilty wretch, I look around 
And start at every footstep, lest it bring 
The fatal news of my poor son's conviction ! 



420 



Oh, Rome, tliou little knowest — no more. It comes. 
\_Enter Valerius.'] 

Val. My friend, the Senate hath to thee transferred 
The right of judgment on thy son's offense. 

Bru. To me ? 

Val. To thee alone. 

Bru. What of the rest ? 

Val. Their sentence is already passed : 
Even now, perhaps, the lictor's dreaded hand 
Cuts off their forfeit lives. 

Bru. Sayst thou the Senate have to me referred 
The fate of Titus ? 

Val. Such is their sovereign will. 
They think you merit this distinguished honor. 
A father's grief deserves to be revered : 
Rome will approve whatever you decree. 

Bru. And is his guilt established beyond doubt ? 

Val. Too clearly. 

Bru. [ With a burst of tears.'] Oh, ye gods ! ye god3 ! 
[ Collecting himself.] Valerius ! 

Val. What wouldst thou, noble Roman ? 

Bru. 'Tis said thou hast pulled down thine house, Valerius, 
The stately pile that with such cost was reared. 

Val. I have ; but what doth Brutus thence infer ? 

Bru. It was a goodly structure : I remember 
How fondly you surveyed its rising grandeur. 
With what a — fatherly — delight you summoned 
Each grace and ornament, that might enrich 
The — child — of your creation — till it swelled 
To an imperial size, and overpeered 
The petty citizens, that humbly dwelt 
Under its lofty walls, in huts and hovels, 
Like emmets at the foot of towering Etna : 
Then, noble Roman, then, with patriot zeal, 
Dear as it was, and valued, you condemned 
And leveled the proud pile ; and, in return, 
Were by your grateful countrymen surnamed, 
And shall to all posterity descend, — 
Poplicola. 

Val. Yes, Brutus, I conceive 
The awful aim and drift of thy discourse — 
But I conjure thee, pause ! thou art a father. 

Bru. I am a Roman consul. What, my friend, 



AND OKATOKY. 421 

Shall no one but Valerius love his country 

Dearer than house, or property, or children ? 

Now, follow me ; — and in the face of heaven — 

See, see, good Valerius, if Brutus 

Feel not for Rome as warmly as Poplicola. [Exeunt.'] 

Scene 2.— Interior of a Temple. 

[Brutus seated on the tribunal.] 

Bru. Romans, the blood which hath been shed this day 
Hath been shed wisely. Traitors, who conspire 
Against mature societies, may urge 
Their acts as bold and daring ; and though villains, 
Yet they are manly villains — but to stab 
The cradled innocent, as these have done, — 
To strike their country in the mother-pangs, 
And direct the dagger 

To freedom's infant throat, — is a deed so black, 
That my foiled tongue refuses it a name. [A pause.] 

There is one criminal still left for judgment. 
Let him approach. [Enter Titus, guarded.] 

Pris-on-er — [The voice of Brutus falters, and is choked, and he ex- 
claims, with violent emotion,] 
Eomans ! forgive this agony of grief — 
My heart is bursting — nature must have way — 
I will perform all that a Roman should — 

I cannot feel less than a father ought : [He becomes more calm.] 
Well, Titus, speak — how is it with thee now ? 
Tell me, my son, art thou prepared to die ? 

Tit. Father ! I call the powers of heaven to witness, 
Titus dares die, when you have so decreed. 
The gods will have me. 

Bru. They will, my Titus ; 
Nor heaven, nor earth can have it otherwise. 
The violated genius of thy country 
Rears its sad head, and passes sentence on thee ! 
It seems as if thy fate were pre-ordained 
To fix the reeling spirits of the people, 
And settle the loose liberty of Rome. 
'Tis fixed ; — oh, therefore, let not fancy cheat thee ! 
So fixed thy death, that 'tis not in the power 
Of mortal man to save thee from the axe. 

Tit. The axe ! Oh, heavens ! — then must I fall so basely ? 
"What, shall I perish like a common felon ? 



422 



Bru. How else do traitors suffer ? Nay, Titus, more : 
I must myself behold thee meet this shame of death, — 
With all thy hopes and all thy youth upon thee, — 
See thy head taken by the common axe. 
All, — if the gods can hold me to my purpose, — 
Without a groan, without one pitying tear. 

Tit. Die like a felon ? — ha ! a common felon ! — 
But I deserve it all : — yet here I fail : 
This ignominy quite unmans me ! 
Oh, Brutus, Brutus ! must I call you father, 
Yet have no token of your tenderness, 
No sign of mercy ? not even leave to fall 
As noble Romans fall, by my own sword ? 
Father, why should you make my heart suspect 
That all your late compassion was dissembled ? 
How can I think that you did ever love me ? 

Bru. Think that I love thee by my present passion, 
By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here, 
These sighs, that strain the very strings of life : 
Let these convince you that no other cause 
Could force a father thus to wrong his nature. 

Tit. Oh, hold, thou violated majesty ! 
I now submit with calmness to my fate. 
Come forth, ye executioners of justice — 
Come, take my life, — and give it to my country ! 

Bru. Embrace thy wretched father. May the gods 
Arm thee with patience in this awful hour. 
The sovereign magistrate of injured Rome, 
Bound by his high authority, condemns 
A crime thy father's bleeding heart forgives. 
Go — meet thy death with a more manly courage 
Than grief now suffers me to show in parting ; 
And, while she punishes, let Rome admire thee ! 
No more ! Farewell ! eternally farewell! 

Tit. Oh, Brutus ! oh, my father ! 
Farewell, forever. 

Bru. Forever. 
Lictors, attend ! — conduct your prisoner forth ! 

Vol. [Rapidly and anxiously.] Whither ? 

[All the characters vending forward with great anxiety.] 

Bru. To death ! [All start.] When you do reach the spot, 
My hand shall wave the signal for the act. 
Then let the trumpet's sound proclaim it done ! 



AND ORATOKY. 423 

[Titus is conducted out by the lictors.] 
Poor youth ! thy pilgrimage is at an end ! 
A few sad steps have brought thee to the brink 
Of that tremendous precipice, whose depth 
No thought of man can fathom. Justice now 
Demands her victim ! A little moment 
And I am childless. — One effort, and 'tis past — 

[ Waves his hand.] 
Justice is satisfied, and Rome is free. [Brutus falls.] 



CCXIIL— THE YOUNG POETS. 

FRED AND HARRY. 

[Or, by altering a few words, kate and lizzie.] 

Harry. Fred, have you written your composition ? 

Fred. No, I can't write poetry, and the teacher says he 
will take nothing else, you know. Besides, I don't like 
the subject. I should as soon think of writing a poem upon 
an old apron, as upon Industry. 

H. There is not much room for imagination, but I'll tell 
you what, we can put our heads together, and write a poem 
between us. You know there's the Ant and the Sluggard, 
we can bring that in. 

F. Good, good, so we can. Well, now start us with the 
first line. 

H. No, you may do that. It is easier to begin, because 
I must match your rhyme, you know. 

F. Well, how will this do ? 

" An ant upon an ant-hill sot." 

H. Sot, Fred, why a sot is a drunkard. 

F. Well, then, 

"An ant upon an aut-hill sat." 

H. That is a good line, but what in the world would an 
industrious ant be sitting on an ant-hill for ? 

F. To rest herself, to be sure. Come, now match my 
line, will you. 

" An ant upon an ant-hill sot — sat." 
" I wonder what she can be at." 



424 



You must account for her being seated, you know, 
for you seated her. 

F. How will it do to say, — 

" She thought of this and then of that." 
H. She must have been a wonderful ant to do so ; but, 
no matter, here is another line, — 

" And then, as lazy as a cat," 
F. How do you know a cat is lazy ? and who is lazy as 
a cat ? 

H. Who ever knew a cat to do any work, unless watching 
for dinner is called work. But you interrupted me, or you 
would have known who was lazy. Hark! 
" And then, as lazy as a cat, 
A sluggard came to have some chat." 
F. Good. Now for a dialogue. We must imagine the 
scene before we can describe it. 

H. Well, there's the ant sitting flat, and there's the 
sluggard standing. Good. Now the ant, being a female, 
and, of course the greatest talker, would begin. 
" sluggard, said the ant, consider ! " 
F. That will never do, Harry: there's nothing on earth 
to rhyme with consider but widder. 

II Well, who knows but she was a widder. She was 
an Aunt, wasn't she ? Then she was a woman ; and as wid- 
ders work hard to keep their babies from starving, she 
must have been a widder. 

F. That'll do, and we can put the explanation in a note. 
Now, suppose we say, — 

i " Sluggard, said the ant, consider, 

I'm a poor, industrious widder." 
H. Good, now push on, and finish her speech. 
F. No, it is your turn. 
H. Well, how will it do to make her say, 
"And now you may depend upon it," 
F. Depend upon what ? Gracious, Harry, there's noth- 
ing to rhyme with on it but bonnet, and what has an ant 
to do with a bonnet ? 

H. Poh, that is easily got over. You see this is per- 



AND ORATORY. 425 

sonification, and she has a right to wear a bonnet, but there 
is no need of it, for, I propose to make her say, — 

" And now you may depend upon it, 

Sure as my head's without a bonnet," 

F (Soleimily.) Is not that an oath, Harry? 

H. An oath ? no, she don't swear by her bonnet, for she 
hasn't any. Suppose we make her say next, 
"Until you learn to work and labor," 

F That'll never do. What can you get to rhyme with 
labor? 

H. There's tabor. 

F. It is not to be supposed the hard working ant ever 
played. 

H. Well then, take sabre. 

F. Much less did she fight. Besides, work and labor is 
what the teacher calls tortuology, or something else : the 
words mean the same thing. 

H. Don't stand for trifles. Go on, Fred. 

F. I've caught a grand rhyme, hark ! 
" Until you learn to work and labor, 
As I have done ever since I was a little babe uh ! " 

H. Your line is too long, Fred : you must cut off both 
the feet of your baby, or the line will limp dreadfully. 

F. Better have the line limp than the baby. So go on 
and let the baby alone. What else does the widder say to 
the sluggard ? 

" Until you learn to work and labor, 
As I have done ever since I was a little babe uh ! " 
H. Now, we go on, — 

" You never can be rich or wise, 
Which with mankind the same thing is." 

F. O, Harry, is can never rhyme with wise, and, besides, 
to be rich and to be wise don't mean the same thing. 

H. Yes they do. All the ant ever did was to hoard 
up; and all the sluggard had to do was to consider her 
ways. So, you see, there's scripture for it, and wealth must 
be wisdom, for who ever heard of a poor man being wise. 



420 



F. Well, it is time for the sluggard to say something 
now. Suppose we say, — 

" The sluggard yawned and raised his head," 

H. Better say scratched his head, that is more natural 
for a sluggard. 

F. Very well, so be it. 

" The sluggard yawned and scratched his head," 

II Well, are you going to make him reform or not ? 
because every thing depends upon the cat-a-cata something, 
what is it ? 

F Catastrophe, I suppose you mean ; but I have a line 
that dodges the reform question, and leaves the field open 
for ray successors. 

" The sluggard yawned and scratched his head, 
And no reply for some time made.*' 

There now, go it, and make him say something smart. 
H. He's too lazy to be smart. You must tell what he 
said, and I will only say, — 

" Then, yawning, as if his under jaw 
Would never close up as before, — 

What did he say? now wind it up in style. 
F. " He stared the widder in the face, 
And said, Old pismire, go to grass ! " 

[From FowWs Hundred Dialogues. 



CCXIY.— THE RIGHTEOUS JUDGE.— Merchant of Venice. 

Duke, Judge, Shtlock, the Jew, Antonio, the merchant, Bassanio, and 

Gratiano, merchant's friends. 

[Fnter Judge. ,] 

Duke. You are welcome : take your place. 
Are you acquainted with the difference 
That holds this present question in the court ? 

Judge. I am informed thoroughly of the cause : 
Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew ? 

D. Antonio and old Shylock, both stand forth. 

J. Is your name Shylock? 

Shylock. Shylock is my name. 



AND ORATORY. 427 



J. Of a strange nature is the suit you follow : 
Yet in such rule, that the Venetian law 
Cannot impugn you, as you do proceed. — 
You stand within his danger, do you not? {To Antonio.) 

Antonio. Ay, so he says. 

J. Do you confess the bond ? 

A. I do. 

J. Then must the Jew be merciful. 

S. On what compulsion must I ? tell me that ? 

J. The quality of mercy is not strained : 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed : 
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest. It becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown : 
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, 
The attribute to awe and majesty, 
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
But mercy is above this sceptred sway, 
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
It is an attribute to God himself; 
And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, 
Though justice be thy plea, consider this, — 
That, in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy ; 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much, 
To mitigate the justice of thy plea ; 
Which if thou follow, this strict court of Yenice 
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there. 

S. My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 

J. Is he not able to discharge the money ? 

Bassanio. Yes : here I tender it for him in the court : 
Yea, twice the sum : if that will not suffice, 
I will be bound to pay it ten times o'er, 
On forfeit of my hands, my head, my heart : 
If this will not suffice, it must appear 
That malice bears down truth. And I beseech you, 
Wrest once the law to your authority : 
To do a great right, do a little wrong ; 
And curb this cruel demon of his will. 



428 

J. It must not be : there is no power in Venice 
Can alter a decree established : 
'Twill be recorded for a precedent : 
And many an error, by the same example, 
Will rush into the state : it cannot be. 

S. A Daniel come to judgment ! yea, a Daniel ! — 
wise young judge, how do I honor thee ! 

J. I pray you let me look upon the bond. 

<S. Here 'tis, most reverend doctor, here it is. 

J. Shylock, there's thrice thy money offered thee. 

S. An oath, an oath, I have an oath in heaven : 
Shall I lay perjury upon my soul? 
No, not for Venice. 

J. Why, this bond is forfeit ; 
And lawfully by this the Jew may claim 
A pound of flesh to be by him cut off 
Nearest the merchant's heart. Be merciful : 
Take thrice thy money : bid me tear the bond. 

S. When it is paid according to the tenor. 
It doth appear you are a worthy judge ; 
You know the law, your exposition 
Hath been most sound : I charge you, by the law, 
Whereof you are a well deserving pillar, 
Proceed to judgment : by my soul I swear, 
There is no power in the tongue of man 
To alter me. I stay here on my bond. 

A. Most heartily do I beseech the court 
To give the judgment. 

J. Why, then, thus it is. 
You must prepare your bosom for his knife. 

S. noble judge ! excellent young man! 

J. For the intent and purpose of the law 
Hath full relation to the penalty, 
Which here appeareth due upon the bond. 

S. 'Tis very true : wise and upright judge 
How much more elder art thou than thy looks ! 

J. Therefore, lay bare your bosom. 

S. Ay, his breast : 
So says the bond. Doth it not, noble judge ? 
Nearest his heart, those are the very words. 

J. It is so. Are there balance here to weigh 
The flesh ? 

S. I have them ready. 



AA T D ORATORY. 429 

J. Have by some surgeon, Shylock, on your charge, 
To stop his wounds, lest he do bleed to death. 

S. Is it so nominated in the bond ? 

J. It is not so expressed ; but what of that ? 
'Twere good you do so much for charity. 

S. I cannot find it : 'tis not in the bond. 
We trifle time : I pray thee, pursue sentence. 

J. A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine : 
The court awards it, and the law doth give it. 

S. Most rightful judge ! 

J. And you must cut this flesh from off his breast : 
The law allows it, and the court awards it. 

IS. Most learned judge ! — A sentence : come, prepare ! 

{Approaches Antonio.) 

J. Tarry a little ; — there is something else. 
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood : 
The words expressly are, a pound of flesh : 
Take then thy bond, take thou thy pound of flesh ; 
But, in the cutting it, if thou dost shed 
One drop of Christian blood, thy lands and goods 
Are, by the laws of Yenice, confiscate 
Unto the state of Yenice. 

Graiiano. upright judge ! — Mark, Jew : learned judge ! 

S. Is that the law ? 

J. Thyself shalt see the act : 
For as thou urgest justice, be assured, 
Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desirest. 

G. learned judge ! — Mark, Jew : a learned judge ! 

S. I take this offer, then ; — pay the bond thrice ; 
And let the Christian go. 

B. Here is the money. 

J. Soft: 
The Jew shall have all justice : — soft ! — no haste: — 
He shall have nothing but the penalty. 

G. Jew ! an upright judge, a learned judge ! 

J. Therefore, prepare thee to cut off the flesh. 
Shed thou no blood ; nor cut thou less, nor more, 
But just a pound of flesh ; if thou tak'st more, 
Or less, than a just pound, — be it but so much 
As makes it light, or heavy, in the substance, 
Or the division of the twentieth part 
Of one poor scruple ; nay, if the scale do turn 
But in the estimation of a hair, — 
Thou diest, and all thy goods are confiscate. 



430 

G. A second Daniel, a Daniel, Jew ! 

J. Why doth the Jew pause ? take thy forfeiture. 

S. Give the principal and let me go. 

B. I have it ready for thee : here it is. 

J. He hath refused it in the open court : 
He shall have merely justice and his bond. 

G. A Daniel, still say I : a second Daniel ! 
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word. 

S. Shall I not have barely my principal ? 

J. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture, 
To be so taken at thy peril. Tarry, Jew : 
The law hath yet another hold on you. 
It is enacted in the laws of Venice, — 
If it be proved against an alien, 
That by direct, or indirect attempts, 
He seek the life of any citizen, 
The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive 
Shall seize one half his goods : the other half 
Comes to the privy coffer of the state ; 
And the offender's life lies in the mercy 
Of the duke ODly, 'gainst all other voice. 
In which predicament, I say, thou standest : 
Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the duke. 



CCXV.— THE QUACK. 

Scene — The Inn. 
Enter Hostess, followed by Lampedo, a Quack Doctor. 

Hostess. Nay, nay : another fortnight. 

Lampedo. It can't be. 
The man's as well as I am : have some mercy ! 
He hath been here almost three weeks already. 

Host. "Well, then a week. 

Lamp. We may detain him a week. [with a drawn sword. 

[Enter Balthazar, the patient, from behind, in his night-gown, 
You talk now like a reasonable hostess, 
That sometimes has a reckoning with her conscience. 

Host. He still believes he has an inward bruise. 

Lamp. I would to heaven he had ! or that he'd slipp'd 
His shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two, 
(Not that I bear his person any malice,) 
Or lux'd an arm, or even sprained his ankle ! 



AND ORATORY. 431 

Host. Ay, broken any thing except his neck. 

Lamp. However, for a week I'll manage him : 
Though he had the constitution of a horse. 
A farrier shall prescribe for him. 

Balthazar. [Aside.'] A farrier ! 

Lamp. To-morrow, we phlebotomize again : 
Next day, my new invented, patent draught ; 
Then, I have some pills prepared : 
On Thursday, we throw in the bark : on Friday — <— 

Balth. [Coming forward.] Well, sir, on Friday — what on Friday? 
Come, proceed. 

Lamp. Discovered ! 

Host. Mercy, noble sir ! ) an. x n ,r • 7 

_ J V They fall on their knees. 

Lamp. We crave your mercy ! ) 

Balth. On your knees ? 'tis well ! 
Pray, for your time is short. 

Host. Nay, do not kill us. 

Balth. You have been tried, condemn'd, and only wait 
For execution. Which shall I begin with ? 

Lamp. The lady, by all means, sir, 

Balth. Come, prepare. [To the hostess.] 

Host. Have pity on the weakness of my sex ! 

Balth. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross flesh, 
Tell me, and in a breath, how many poisons — 
If you attempt it — [To Lampedo, who is making off.] 
you have cooked up for me ? 

Host. None, as I hope for mercy ! 

Balth. Is not thy wine a poison ? 

Host. No, indeed, sir : 
'Tis not, I own, of the first quality : 
But 

Balth. What? 

Host. I always give short measure, sir. 
And ease my conscience that way. 

Balth. Ease your conscience ! 
I'll ease your conscience for you. 

Host. Mercy, sir ! 

Balth. Rise, if thou canst, and hear me. 

Host. Your commands, sir? 

Balth. If, in five minutes, all things are prepared 
For my departure, you may yet survive. 

Host. It shall be done in less. 

Balth. Away, thou lump fish ! [Exit hostess. 



432 



Lamp. So ! now comes my turn ! 'tis all over with me ! 
There's dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks ! 

Balth. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man ! 
Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun ! 
Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born 
Of Death on Famine ! thou anatomy 
Of a starved pilchard ! 

Lamp. I do confess my leanness. I am spare, 
And, therefore, spare me. 

Balth. Why ! wouldst thou not have made me 
A thoroughfare, for thy whole shop to pass through ? 

Lamp. Man, you know, must live. 

Balth. Yes : he must die, too. 

Lamp. For my patients' sake — 

Balth. I'll send thee to the major part of them. 
The window, sir, is open : come, prepare. 

Lamp. Pray, consider : 
I naay hurt some one in the street. 

Balth. Why, then, 
I'll rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box, 
Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder, 
For thou must sup with Pluto ; so, make ready : 
While I, with this good small-sword for a lancet, 
Let thy starved spirit out, (for blood thou hast none,) 
And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look 
Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him. 

Lamp. Consider my poor wife. 

Balth. Thy wife! 

Lamp. My wife, sir. 

Balth. Hast thou dared think of matrimony, too ? 
No flesh upon thy bones, and take a wife ! 

Lamp. I took a wife, because I wanted flesh. 
I have a wife, and three angelic babes, 
Who, by those looks, are well nigh fatherless. 

Balth. Well, well ! you wife and children shall plead for you. 
Come, come : the pills ! where are the pills ? produce them. 

Lamp. Here is the box. 

Balth. Were it Pandora's, and each single pill 
Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. 

Lamp. What, all ? 

Balth. Ay, all ; and quickly too. Come, sir, begin — that's well ! 
Another. 

Lamp. One's a dose. 



AND ORATOEY. 433 

Balth. Proceed, sir. 

Lamp. What will become of me ? 
Let me go home, and set my shop to rights, 
And, like immortal Caesar, die with decency. 

Balth. Away ! and thank thy lucky star I have not 
Bray'd thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee 
For a large specimen of the lizard genus. 

Lamp. Would I were 'one ! for they can feed on air. 

Balth. Home, sir, and be more honest. [Exit. 

Lamp, If I am not, 
I'll be more wise, at least. [JSxil.~\ 



CCXVL— LOST REPUTATION— FROM OTHELLO. 

Shakspeare. 
Characters — iago — Cassio. 

Iago. What ! be you hurt, lieutenant ? 

Cass. Past all surgery. 

Iago. Marry, heaven forbid I 

Cass. Reputation ! reputation ! reputation ! Oh I have 
lost my reputation ! I have lost the immortal part of my- 
self; and what remains is bestial. My reputation ! Iago, 
my reputation — 

Iago. As I am an honest man, I thought you had re- 
ceived some bodily wound : there is more sense in that, 
than in reputation. Reputation is an idle and false impo- 
sition : oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. 
What, man ! There are ways to recover the general again : 
sue to him, and he is yours. 

Cass. I will rather sue to be despised — Drunk! and 
squabble ! swagger ! swear ! and discourse fustian with 
one's own shadow ! Oh thou invincible spirit of wine ! if 
thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee, Devil. 

Iago. What was he that you followed with your sword ! 
what had he done to you? 

Cass. I know not. 

Iago. Is it possible ? 

Cass. I remember a mass of things, but nothing dis- 
19 



431 



tinctly : a quarrel, but nothing wherefore : Oh, that men 
should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their 
brains ! that we should with joy, pleasance, revel, and ap- 
plause, transform ourselves into beasts ! 

logo. Why, but you are now well enough : how came 
you thus recovered ? 

Cass. It has pleased the devil Drunkenness, to give 
place to the devil Wrath. One imperfection shows me 
another, to make me frankly despise myself. 

Iago. Come: you are too severe a moraler. As the 
time, place, and the condition of this country stands, I could 
heartily wish this had not befallen ; but since it is as it is, 
mend it for your own good. 

Cass. I will ask him for my place again : he shall tell 
me I am a drunkard ! Had I as many mouths as Hydra, 
such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible 
man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast ! — Every 
inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 

Iago. Come : come : good wine is a good familiar crea- 
ture, if it be well used : exclaim no more against it ; — and, 
good lieutenant, I think you think I love you ? 

Cass. I have well approved it, sir : — I drunk ! 

Iago. You, or any man living, may be drunk some time, 
man ! I tell you what you shall do. Our general's wife is 
now the general : confess yourself freely to her : importune 
her help to put you in your place again. She is of so free, 
so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds it a vice in 
her goodness, not to do more than she is requested. This 
broken joint between you and her husband entreat her to 
splinter ; and my fortune against any lay worth naming, 
this cracli of your love shall grow stronger than it was be- 
fore. 

Cass. You advise me well. 

Iago. I protest, in the sincerity of love and honest kind- 
ness. 

Cass. I think it freely ; and betimes in the morning, I 
will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. 



AND OEATORY. 435 

Iago. You are in the right. Good night, lieutenant. 
Cass. Good night, honest Iago. 



CCXVIL— THE LETTER. 

L07ER. 

Squire Egan, and his new Irish servant, Andy. 

Squire. Well, Andy: you went to the post-office, as I 
ordered you ? 

Andy. Yis, sir. 

8. Well, what did you find ? 

A. A most imperthinent fellow, indade, sir. 

8. How so? 

A. Says I, as dacent like as a genthleman, " I want a 
letther, sir, if you plase." " Who do you want it for ? " 
said the posth-masther as ye call him. " I want a letther, 
sir, if you plase," said I. " And whom do you want it 
for ? " said he again. " And what's that to you ? " said I. 

8. You blockhead, what did he say to that ? 

A. He laughed at me, sir, and said he could not tell 
what letther to give me unless I tould him the direction. 

8. Well, you told him then, did you ? 

A. " The directions I got," said I, " was to get a let-' 
ther here — that's the directions." "Who gave you the 
directions ? " says he. " The masther," said I. " And 
who's your masther ? " said he. " What consarn is that 
o 5 yours' ? " said I. 

8. Did he break your head, then ? 

A. "No, sir. " Why, you stupid rascal," said he, " if 
you don't tell me his name, how can I give you his let- 
ther ? " " You could give it if you liked," said I : " only 
you are fond of axing impident questions, because you 
think I'm simple." " Get out o' this ! " said he. " Your 
masther must be as great a goose as yourself to send such 
a missinger." 

8. Well, how did you save my honor, Andy ? 

A. " Bad luck to your impidence ! " said I. " Is it 



436 



Squire Egan you dare to say goose to ? " " O, Squire 
Egan's your masther ? " said he. " Yis," says I. " Have 
you any thing to say agin it ? " 

IS. You got the letter, then, did you ? 

A. " Here's a letther for the Squire," says he. " You 
are to pay me eleven pence posthage." " What 'ud I pay 
'leven pence for ? " said I. " For posthage" says he. 
" Didn't I see you give that gentleman a letther for four- 
pence, this blessed minit ? " said I : " and a bigger letther 
than this ? Do you think I'm a fool ? " says I. " Here's 
a fourpence for you — and give me the letther." 

S. I wonder he did not break your skull, and let some 
light into it. 

A. " Go along, you stupid thafe ! " says he, because I 
would not let him chate your honor. 

S. Well, well : give me the letter. 

A. I haven't it, sir. He wouldn't give it to me, sir. 

S. Who wouldn't give it to you ? 

A. That old chate beyent in the town. 

S. Didn't you pay him what he asked ? 

A. Arrah, sir, why would I let you be chated, when he 
was selling them before my face for fourpence apace ? 

S, Go back, you scoundrel, or I'll horsewhip you ! 

A. He'll murther me, if I say another word to him 
about the letther : he swore he would. 

S. Pll do it, if he don't, if you are not back in less 
than half an hour. [Exit.'] 

A. O that the like of me should be murthered for de- _ 
f ending the charrackther of my masther ! It's not I'll go 
to dale with that bloody chate again. I'll off to Dublin, 
and let the letther rot on his dirty hands, bad luck to him ! 



CCXVIII.— THE WILL. 

Characters. — Swipes, a brewer: Currie, a saddler: 
Frank Millington, and Squire Drawl. 

Swipes. A sober occasion, this, brother Currie. Who 
would have thought the old lady was so near her end ? 



AND ORATORY. 437 

Cicrrie. Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes ; and 
those who live longest, outlive the most. 

Swipes. True, true ; but since we must die and leave 
our earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such 
good care of us. Had the old lady her senses when she 
departed ? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. Squire Drawl told me she 
read every word of the will aloud, and never signed her 
name better. 

Swipes. Had you any hint from the Squire, what dispo- 
sition she made of her property ? 

Cur. Not a whisper : the Squire is as close as an un- 
derground tomb : but one of the witnesses hinted to me, 
that she had cut off her graceless nephew, Frank, without 
a shilling. 

Swi$)es. Has she, good soul, has she ? You know I 
come in, then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my own right ; and this is no doubt the 
reason why we have been called to hear the reading of the 
will. Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, 
though he is as air-tight as one of your beer-barrels. But 
here comes the young reprobate. He must be present, as 
a matter of course, you know. [Enter Frank Milling- 
ton.] Your servant, young gentleman. So your benefac- 
tress has left you, at last. 

Swipes. It is a painful thing to part with old and good 
friends, Mr. Millington. 

Franlc. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss better, 
had I not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She 
was my only friend, and I knew not her value. 

Cur. It is too late to repent, Master Millington. You 
will now have a chance to earn your own bread. 

Swip)es. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better 
people are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's 
boy, if you were not too old. 

Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight 
rein. 



438 



Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt 
has treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, 
and only hope you will bear your fortune as modestly, as I 
shall mine submissively. I shall retire. [Going: he meets 
Squire Drawl.] 

Squire.- Stop, stop, young man. We must have your 
presence. Good morning, gentlemen : you are early on 
the ground. 

Cur. I hope the Squire is well to-day. 

Squire. Pretty comfortable, for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs 
again. 

Squire. No, I believe not. But since the heirs at law 
are all convened, I shall now proceed to open the last will 
and testament of your deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes. [ While the Squire is breaking the seal.] It is 
a trying thing to leave all one's possessions, Squire, in this 
manner. 

Cur. It really makes me feel melancholy, when I look 
round and see every thing but the venerable owner of 
these goods. Well did the Preacher say, "All is vanity." 

Squire. Please to be seated, gentlemen. [He puts on 
his spectacles, and begins to read sloioly.] " Imprimis : 
whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobe- 
dience and ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unwor- 
thy of my bounty, and incapable of managing my large 
estate, I do hereby give and bequeath all my houses, 
farms, stocks, bonds, moneys, and property, both personal 
and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt 
street, brewer, and Christopher Currie, of Fly-Court, sad- 
dler — " [The Squire takes off his spectacles, to wipe 
them.'] 

Swipes. Generous creature ! Kind soul ! I always 
loved her. 

Cur. She was good, she was kind ; — and, brother 
Swipes, when we divide, I thiuk I'll take the mansion- 
house. 



AND ORATORY. 439 

Swipes. Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie. My 
wife has long had her eye upon that, and must have it. 

Cur. There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. 
Swipes. And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. 
Did I not lend her a new chaise, every time she wished to 
ride ? And who knows what influence — 

/Swipes. Am I not named first in her will ? and did I 
not furnish her with my best small beer, for more than six 
months ? and who knows — 

Frank. Gentlemen, I must leave you. [Going.] 

Squire. [Putting on his spectacles very deliberately.] 
Pray, gentlemen, keep your seats, I have not done yet. 
Let me see ; where was I ? Ay, " All my property, both 
personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of 
Malt street, brewer," — 

Swipes. Yes! 

Squire. " And Christopher Currie, of Fly-Court, sad- 
dler,"— 

Cur. Yes ! 

Squire. " To have and to hold, ix trust, for the sole 
and exclusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, 
until he shall have attained the age of twenty-one years, 
by which time, I hope he will have so far reformed his evil 
habits, as that he may safely be intrusted with the large 
fortune which I hereby bequeath to him. 

Swipes. What's all this ? You don't mean that we are 
humbugged? Intrust! How does that appear ? Where 
is it ? * 

Squire. There : in two words of as good old English 
as I ever penned. 

Cur. Pretty well, too, Mr. Squire, if we must be sent 
for, to be made a laughing stock of. She shall pay for 
every ride she has had out of my chaise, I promise you. 

Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times ! 
if two sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here, 
to be made the sport of a graceless profligate. But we 
will manage his property for him, Mr. Currie : we will 
make him feel that trustees are not to be trifled with. 



440 



Cur. That we will. 

Squire. Not so fast, gentlemeii ; for the instrument is 
dated three years ago ; and the young gentleman must be 
already of age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not 
so, Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the break- 
ing of the seal, according to law, you are released from 
any further trouble about the business. 



CCXIX.— GHOST SCENE FROM HAMLET. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 

Enter Hamlet, Horatio, and Marcellus. 

Hamlet. The air bites shrewdly : it is very cold. 

Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air. 

Ham. "What hour now ? 

Hor. I think, it lacks of twelve. 

Mar. No, it is struck. 

Hor. Indeed ? I heard it not ; then it draws near the season, 
"Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk. 

[A flourish of trumpets, and ordnance shot off, within.'] 
What does this mean, my lord ? 

Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his rouse, 
And, as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, 
The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out 
The triumph of his pledge. 

Hor. Is it a custom ? 

Ham. Ay, marry, is't ; 
But to my mind, — though I am native here, 
And to the manner born, — it is a custom 
More honored in the breach, than the observance. 
[Enter Ghost.] 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us ! 
Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 
Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
That I will speak to thee : I'll call thee Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : 0, answer me : 



AND ORATORY. 441 

Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 
Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements : why the sepulcher 
Wherein we saw thee quietly iu-urned, 
Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, 
To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, 
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
So horribly to shake our disposition, 
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? 
Say why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 
As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
It waves you to a more removed ground ; 
But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak ; then I will follow it. 

Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Ham. Why, what should be the fear ? 
I do not set my life at a pin's fee ; 
And, for my souk, what can it do to that, 
Being a thing immortal, as itself ? 
It waves me forth again ; — I'll follow it. 

Hor. What, if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, 
Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, 
That beetles o'er his base into the sea ? 
And there assume some other horrible form, 
And draw you into madness ? 

Ham. It waves me still : — 
Go on, I'll follow thee. 

Mar. You shall not go, my lord. 

Ham. Hold off your hands. 

Hor. Be ruled, you shall not go. 

Ham. My fate cries out, 
And makes each petty artery in this body 

As hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve. — [Ghost beckons.] 

Still am I called ; — unhand me, gentlemen : — [Breaking from them.'] 
By heaven, I'll make a ghost of him that lets me : — 
I say, away ! — Go on, I'll follow thee. 

[Exeunt Ghost and Hamlet, followed by Horatio and Marcellus.] 
19* 



442 



[Re-enter Ghost and Hamlet.] 

Ham. Whither wilt thou lead me ? speak, I'll go no further. 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 
When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost ! 

Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hearing 
To what I shall unfold. 

Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art thou to revenge, when thou shalt hear. 

Ham. What? 

Ghost. I am thy father's spirit : 
Doomed for a certain term to walk the. night, 
And, for the day — confined to fast in fires, 
Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 
I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul : freeze thy young blood : 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres : 
Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 
And each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : 
But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood : — List, — list, — list ! — 
If thou didst ever thy dear father love, 

Ham. heaven ! 

Ghost. Revenge this foul aud most unnatural murder. 

Ham. Murder? 

Ghost. Murder most foul, as in the best it is ; 
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural. 

Ham. Haste me to know it ; that I, with wings as swift 
As meditation, or the thoughts of love, 
May sweep to my revenge. 

Ghost. I find thee apt ; 
And duller should'st thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself in ease on Lethe * wharf, 
Would'st thou not stir in this. Now, Hamlet, hear : 

* Lethe, a river of Africa, because the name signifies oblivion, was feigned to 
cause forgetfulness of all that was past to those who drank of its waters : oblivion : 
forgetfuiness. 



AND ORATORY. 443 



'Tis given out, that sleeping in mine orchard, 

A serpent stung me : so the whole ear of Denmark 

Is by a forged process of my death 

Eankly abused : but know, thou noble youth, 

The serpent that did sting thy father's life, 

Now wears his crown. 

Ham. 0, my prophetic soul ! my uncle ! 

Ghost Ay, — 
With witchcraft of his wit, with traitorous gifts, 
He won to his shameful love 
The will of my most seeming virtuous queen : 
0, Hamlet, what a falling-off was there ! 
From me, whose love was of that dignity, 
That it went hand in hand even with the vow 
I made to her in marriage ; and to decline 
Upon a wretch, whose natural gifts were poor 
To those of mine ! — 

But, soft ! methinks, I scent the morning air : 
Brief let me be : — Sleeping within my orchard, 
My custom always of the afternoon, 
Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole, 
With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial, 
And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
The leperous distillment : whose effect 
Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
The natural gates and alleys of the body ; 
And, with a sudden vigor, it doth posset 
And curd, like eager droppings into milk, 
The thin and wholesome blood : so did it mine : 
Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand, 
Of life, of crown, of queen, at once dispatched : 
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin, 
No reckoning made, but sent to my account 
With all my imperfections on my head. 

Ham. 0, horrible ! 0, horrible ! most horrible ! 

Ghost. If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not ; 
But, howsoever tbou pursu'st this act, 
Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive 
Against thy mother aught : leave her to heaven, 
And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, 
To goad and sting her. Fare thee well at once ! 
The glowworm shows the matin to be near, 



/ 



444 wiley's elocution. 

And 'gins to pale his ineffectual fire : 

Adieu, adieu, adieu ! remember me. [Exit.'] 

Ham. Hold, hold, my heart : 
And you my sinews, grow not instant old, 
But bear me stiffly up ! — Kemember thee ! 
Ay, thou poor ghost, while memory holds a seat 
In this distracted globe. Remember thee ? 
Yea, from the table of my memory 
I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, 
All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past 
That youth and observation copied there ; 
And thy commandment all alone shall live 
Within the book and volume of my brain, 
Unmixed with baser matter : yes, by heaven, 
I have sworn't. 



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